Paladin of the Dead God-Chapter 413: A Nation for the Dead (6)

The Hammer to Strike the World.

Tuhalin understood what Isaac was implying.

Isaac was asking whether Tuhalin could personally correct the course if he felt the doctrine of the World’s Forge was heading astray.

But then, what exactly was the "good" that the World’s Forge sought?

Countless doctrines and debates surrounded it, but at its core, it could be summarized as "endless improvement."

Striving for a better good, a better justice, refusing stagnation, and embracing change.

Even if small and weak things were weeded out in the process, so be it.

In fact, it was often the weak who were at fault for not keeping up.

This world always held "something better." To not pursue that betterment was, in itself, a sin. Whether the ultimate "good" truly existed was uncertain. After all, the adherents of the Forge admitted even their god fell short. Perhaps the "good" they pursued had no limit.

But Isaac didn’t want to believe that.

Humans didn’t live to claw and scrape for a better tomorrow or to chase a brighter future.

They simply lived.

While heroes fiercely struggled to attain the status of angels, an ordinary farmer who prayed for tomorrow to be just like today didn’t deserve punishment for his simplicity.

The gods reflected human will. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

If gods were harsh to humans, wasn’t that simply humanity’s judgment of itself?

Isaac hoped Tuhalin would reflect on that.

He wanted their relationship to last.

Perhaps one day, Tuhalin might even reshape the World’s Forge for the better.

Tuhalin stared at Isaac in silence.

The flaws within a group were often most evident to those deeply entrenched in it. That’s why the most painful betrayals often came from the most devout believers.

"You’ve beaten me to the punch."

Tuhalin spoke bluntly, his tone curt but not unpleasant.

"I’ll need more time to think. For now, I’ll start by trying to understand these villagers."

He had lived countless years as a devout believer.

It would be untrustworthy if a few words from Isaac suddenly changed his outlook. Yet the past few months of this expedition had impacted Tuhalin more profoundly than the centuries he spent in the Svambar Archipelago.

No matter how resilient the metal, it changed when heated and struck.

Tuhalin was both a fine hammer and a fine piece of steel.

Pausing at the door as he left Isaac’s room, Tuhalin suddenly turned and barked as though enraged:

"Just to be clear, don’t think you’ve outsmarted me! The World’s Forge has improvement as its core tenet! Even if you hadn’t pointed it out, I would’ve figured it out myself!"

"Of course."

Isaac replied with a smile.

***

Ensuring the area was clear, Isaac stepped outside.

Hesabel, who had been silently watching from the roof, approached him without a sound.

In a tense whisper, she said, "He’s waiting for you."

Isaac nodded and began moving toward the designated meeting place.

The village, isolated from the rest of the world, was eerily silent.

It seemed entirely detached from the world-shaking wars and heavenly omens elsewhere. The villagers here feared only the monstrous Sarka Noir hiding like a nightmare in the closet, entirely untouched by the broader dangers threatening the world.

Isaac knew about the chaos unfolding in Holy Land Lua and the convergence of various mysterious forces, including the Dawn Army.

Soon, the Dawn Army of Issacrea would also arrive there.

Until then, Isaac wanted his soldiers to rest a little longer in this fragile peace. He hoped they could someday return home with the same vigor and spirit as when they had first left.

"You’re here."

Waiting in the darkness was a man cloaked in strange hues, wearing a mask.

The mantle of The Color Beyond concealed the man’s—or rather, Isaac’s—body perfectly.

Isaac removed his mask.

The two stood face-to-face.

In that brief moment, they recognized how much stronger each had grown since their last meeting.

The same thought crossed both minds simultaneously.

A fleeting doubt.

A wry, humorless laugh.

And a frivolous imagination.

[The Nameless Chaos watches you.]

Isaac and his counterpart didn’t bother with negotiations or subtle tests. Instead, they immediately clasped hands and activated the Summoning.

For a brief moment, their forms appeared to twist and distort as if they were unraveling. But in the next instant, they returned to their original shapes, as though nothing had happened.

Since they perfectly shared the memories of one another, there was no confusion or awkwardness about who the "real" Isaac was.

From the beginning, Isaac’s divided self regarded each version of him with detachment—much like one would treat a character in a game. The idea of losing one’s identity or struggling with the division of self was a laughably trivial concern.

“Hmm…”

“Sir Isaac?”

Hesabel, who had been watching the situation unfold, spoke cautiously.

Isaac gestured for her to wait a moment, organizing the achievements and experiences that had been exchanged.

The memories of consuming countless monsters and turning them into his vassals in the Outer Boundary, the sights he witnessed in Holy Land Lua, the chaos and the two-day battle, the bloody confrontation with the Lord of the Graveyard, and the abilities he absorbed through Predation…

[You have consumed the ‘Lord of the Graveyard (EX─).’]

[Your ‘Intestines of the Dead God’ perk has enhanced your absorption efficiency.]

[You have acquired the perk ‘Exoskeleton of the Dead (EX─).’]

[Your defense has significantly increased.]

[Your endurance has significantly increased.]

‘Hmm, this…’

Recalling the moment of Predation, Isaac extended his arm and tested the abilities he had gained from the Lord of the Graveyard.

Dark red bones erupted from his arm, splitting his flesh and enveloping it in a thick, grotesque exoskeleton. While fluids dripped from the armor, it wasn’t Isaac’s blood.

[Exoskeleton of the Dead (EX─)]

"If souls have shells, they would be called flesh and bone. Humans protect their fragile souls with their bodies. This power brings forth the hardest parts to the surface while shielding the soul. However, you will bleed heavily while it is active."

‘Are these… tentacle bones?’

It was hard to imagine that the slippery, amorphous tentacles contained bones. Yet, considering they had teeth, it wasn’t entirely surprising to think they might have jaws—or even skeletal structures.

The jagged, menacing bones were too strange and grotesque to have come from anything other than tentacles.

Isaac moved his bone-covered arm experimentally. It felt slightly heavier and bulkier, but the movements weren’t hindered. The bones were surprisingly flexible and resilient, and the joints seemed to have been formed with functionality in mind—like wearing a massive glove.

‘If I cover my whole body, it’d feel like piloting a mech.’

He imagined himself as a terrifying, blood-drenched skeletal machine—a form more horrifying than even the Lord of the Graveyard. While the image alone could strike fear into enemies, Isaac focused on the core of the ability: soul protection.

‘Bleeding isn’t a minor risk, but the ability to shield the soul…’

It might prevent gods and angels from manipulating his soul.

Isaac speculated that this power could become a critical factor in his battles, especially in Holy Land Lua. While he already had internalized armor he could summon at will, this ability protected both body and soul.

After retracting the bones, Isaac turned back.

“Huh, Sir Isaac. Are you done processing everything?”

“Yeah. Nothing unusual happened here, right? I did share the memories, but…”

Although Isaac himself felt no dissonance, he wondered if Hesabel might have noticed something different.

Hesabel grinned.

“Oh, no major issues. But I did find it surprising how similar your thoughts and decisions were. You said not to think about who’s real and who’s fake, but… there’s something about it.”

She wiggled her index fingers from side to side.

“It’s more of a gut feeling? Like, ‘This one isn’t the real one,’ or something like that. It made it a bit hard to treat the other Isaac like you.”

“Not just your imagination?”

“Maybe. But it feels less like logic and more like… instinct. If you asked someone like Hectali or Zihilrat, I bet they’d say the same.”

Isaac understood.

On a smaller scale, it was akin to the relationship between a master and their vassals. A vassal instinctively recognized the spiritual presence of their master.

On a larger scale, it likely connected to something more profound—something theological.

The Nameless Chaos couldn’t be two entities.

Isaac briefly recalled his conversation with Tuhalin:

"Do you have the resolve to become the hammer that strikes the world?"

That question had, in truth, been directed at himself as well.

Isaac, once cautious of becoming a sharp edge against the world, was now marching toward a stage where he might reshape it.

He wasn’t as powerful or radiant as the renowned angels, but he was becoming an undeniable force.

No longer was his fight merely about survival—it was about creating a world worth living in.

Isaac needed to decide what to show the gods with his sharp edges, what to prove to them.

The Nameless Chaos could become anything.

***

Having rested well, the Dawn Army of Issacrea left the village.

The villagers saw them off warmly, despite the language barrier. While some soldiers seemed fond of the village, none wished to stay. They all understood what remaining here would mean.

“For their sake, we have to win this campaign,” Isaac remarked.

Tuhalin raised an eyebrow.

“They’ve lived believing the Immortal Order is the ultimate good. Why would they care?”

“At least they’ll have a choice.”

Not all the villagers were content to see them go. As the army departed, a young man clutching a wooden spear ran after Isaac.

“Take me with you!”

His simple words and earnest demeanor made his intent clear even to the soldiers.

Rottenhammer hesitated, unsure how to respond. The Dawn Army wasn’t part of the Immortal Order, nor were they keen to take an underaged youth to war. But the young man didn’t look ready to give up.

“I want to leave this village! Please take me!”

It wasn’t loyalty to the Immortal Order or a sense of duty driving him—it was the desire to escape the confines of his home.

Tuhalin looked to Isaac, curious about his response.

“Stay here,” Isaac said.

The young man’s face fell, but Isaac continued.

“The shell you live in will shatter soon enough. Enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

As the horses began to move, the Dawn Army followed suit.

“Once the shell breaks, there’s no going back for anyone.”

Not for gods, angels, monsters, or humans.

They were all heading toward a point of no return.