Before them stretched the endless wasteland, Achilles standing staunchly on the northern border, gazed intently at the thousand-mile expanse of frozen land ahead.
Beneath the sunless darkness, wind and snow relentlessly intertwined. The path ahead was completely buried under the heavy snow, its former traces lost.
Achilles extended a hand; a snowflake settled upon his armor-clad palm.
That snowflake, both unnatural and yet devoid of magic, was neither consumed by fire nor altered by light.
A product of this eternally frigid winter.
The soldiers huddled here, gradually worn down by the biting cold. One, shivering, approached Achilles.
“Sir… it’s truly too cold here. Most of us are from the imperial capital; we’re not accustomed to the northern climate, let alone this current… northern winter…”
The endless wasteland region was known as the North. A desolate place, devoid of mountains and trees. Beyond the endless wasteland lay the sacred Mount Snow.
The biting wind came from the north. Even the locals struggled with the climate, much less in conditions like these.
Achilles turned. Behind him, the encampment soldiers huddled around fires, draped in thick furs.
Snow clung to their brows and hair; the faces of some were turning a bluish tinge.
This defense was unsustainable.
But should the Sword Saint strike within the wasteland, with his power, he would inevitably awaken the Ancient Gods slumbering beneath.
Yet, a retreat would necessitate withdrawing hundreds of miles.
Those undead, if they seized this opportunity to breach the North and scatter to the four corners of the earth, would be far more terrifying than a concentrated force.
At that moment, a rider on a black steed galloped back urgently!
“Sir, a dispatch from the Church!”
The rider hastily presented a scroll. Achilles unfurled it, discovering the seals of both the Church and the Empire affixed below.
The Holy Church and the Yaren Empire were bound, yet under normal circumstances, they maintained two distinct, non-interfering political entities.
The Church had its own authority and army, as did the Empire. Only in rare instances would the Imperial House and the Church issue joint decrees.
This missive, however, was from King Yaren to Achilles.
It began thusly:
“To Zohn Achilles, after the outbreak of the undead crisis, internal rot has begun to fester within the Empire.”
“For an Empire that has endured nearly seven hundred years, this might not be unprecedented; however, this rot is different.”
“I sense an unseen darkness seeping in, corroding every corner of the Empire.”
“In just a few evening banquets, I noticed a change in the city's very scent. As a boy, I once smelled this… a scent of blood and fire.”
“But this time, the scent is purer, so pure that it is only blood.”
“It reminds me of the night Queen Susanna passed away. She spoke to me of the Vampires before her death.”
“These past few nights, sleep has eluded me. For whenever I close my eyes, I see pale faces and blood-red eyes.”
“I feel those things watching me from outside the window. Rats everywhere within the walls. I believe this is no illusion.”
“This unease, this fear… feels more like a warning from our ancestors.”
“The Empire may be unknowingly marching towards its destruction. My dearest Achilles, the undead may not be the cause of our downfall. Please return to the capital…”
Achilles closed the scroll and shut his eyes.
After a long moment, he looked at those around him. “Retreat. We return to the capital.”
Internal strife amidst external conflict; even the strongest fortress crumbles.
And compared to external threats, internal decay is far more fearsome.
A nation, a people; their rot always begins from within.
But the Empire’s internal issues were not a recent development.
For an unknown time, this nation had been ailing.
While soldiers fought and died at the front lines, nobles and landowners reveled in peace and prosperity.
Foreign powers encircled the Empire, its military strength repeatedly divided by nobles. Some of those in command elevated their own status, refusing to utilize their troops during war.
Thus, the Empire’s power gradually weakened year after year, until now, it could barely withstand another war.
Were it not for Achilles, his very existence deterring other nations, the Yaren Empire would have already fallen.
And this became the nobles' excuse. They argued against military funding and troop deployment, claiming, "We have the Sword Saint!"
But now, even Achilles felt helpless.
Their retreat was slow, and Achilles couldn't return to the capital alone. He had to look after these soldiers, bringing up the rear, ensuring everyone's safe withdrawal.
Otherwise, if he left, the undead would pursue, and no one could guarantee survival.
This was the will of the wolf pack; a pack, or army, where the Alpha and commanders always remain at the rear. Only then could they oversee everything, watch over the whole.
But the situation in the capital was clearly dire.
Normally, Achilles should have returned to protect the King.
But he wasn't an Imperial Knight; he was a Paladin of the Church.
He saw the lives of these tens of thousands as more important than the King's.
His Paladin's tenets granted him power, but also bound him.
A Paladin's power partly stems from their tenets. Breaking these tenets, a breach of oath, would cause a Paladin to lose their holy power.
Indeed, if the King acted wickedly, a Paladin, adhering to their tenets, would even strike down the King.
Each Paladin's tenets differ slightly; the number of tenets to uphold varies.
The more tenets upheld, the stronger the Paladin. The fewer, the weaker.
Conversely, tenets are invisible shackles; the more tenets, the more chains binding one.
Now, Achilles felt like a man bound by countless chains.
His every step, every decision, was governed by the tenets he upheld.
And the number of tenets he upheld was unprecedentedly high!
Approximately 247 tenets!
A typical Paladin only needed to uphold 7.
But for greater power…
“Thinking of your uncle, my dear nephew?”
At that moment, a shrill, raspy voice echoed from behind!
At the sound, Achilles' eyes narrowed. He saw a black-robed skeletal creature behind him.
Clearly, it was merely an undead being controlled by Necromancy.
Achilles raised his hand, drawing upon his oaths, the holy golden light gathering upon his palm.
“You missed your chance to ambush me.”
With that, the golden light in Achilles' hand solidified into a lance, piercing the undead's skull in a single strike!
BOOM!
A dazzling flash; the undead instantly vanished into black smoke!
In that instant, a fierce blizzard swept in, carrying icy frost!
Countless undead emerged from the wind and snow!
Behind them rode a host of mounted White Walkers, the Frost King among them.
“Have you heard of absolute characteristic?”
At this moment, countless thoughts flooded Achilles' mind.
“It seems my infamous uncle found kindred spirits.”
Beside the Frost King, a mounted skeletal undead creature cackled, “Ha ha, you should worry about your own hide first.”
“This time, I didn't just find one partner. Guess what happened in the capital? It's been so long, you must have gotten some news, right?”
Achilles' eyes were cold, “You’re cooperating with Vampires?”
The undead emitted a chilling, sinister laugh. “That’s right. Excellent, I found the legendary Ancestor Vampire, Alice.”
“I offered her an irresistible deal. In fact, this Ancestor Vampire is even more capable and powerful than I imagined.”
“I guess by the time you get back, that pathetic King will be a headless corpse.”
Achilles drew the Holy Sword. “You seek to challenge me, but forget not that the Church remains in the capital. Neither Vampires nor undead can easily operate under the power of the Holy Scripture.”
The undead laughed coldly. “Oh really? Then why did that pathetic King write you a letter?”
“And I wasn't wrong, was I? There's not only the Imperial seal, but also the Church's seal, am I right?”
Achilles' veins bulged. Further words were useless. He raised the Holy Sword, countless holy lights converging on its blade!
At that instant, the Frost King suddenly gestured!
“Freeze!”
An endless white frost erupted, even time itself frozen for a moment!
The Frost King raised his hand; an icy lance began to coalesce within his grasp!
He lunged towards Achilles, aiming the spear at his chest!
CRACK!
The ice lance shattered the instant before it struck Achilles.
An invisible barrier of light surrounded him, deflecting all attacks; stronger than any metal.
After that initial probing strike, the Frost King retreated.
The freezing power dissipated; the shattered ice lance exploded before Achilles' eyes!
Achilles hastily shielded his eyes. What was that?
He hadn't seen any attack; it was just a mass of ice exploding before him, without warning, utterly sudden.
The attack wasn't powerful, yet it startled him.
He was constantly on guard; it was impossible for an attack to reach him without his noticing.
At that moment, the Frost King subtly signaled, and the White Walkers hurriedly turned to the skeleton: “How do we break through that golden light around Achilles?”
Hearing the White Walker's question, the skeleton waved its hand and produced a deep blue staff, “Don’t rush, I have a solution.”
“But first, you must create openings in his defenses.”
The Frost King casually produced a glass dagger. “With that, you think you can create openings?”
Ultimately, the Frost King returned the bracelet, ordering Styx to exchange it for something more practically useful.
Styx explained that the dagger was dragon-forged, an ancient magical artifact capable of cutting through magic.
However, Styx seemed to have used it for a long time; cracks had begun to appear, leaving only a few uses remaining.
“Try it and see.”
“But be warned, it’s become quite brittle. A normal swing might shatter it. So, you must ensure each strike avoids my nephew's attacks.”
“But given your abilities, that shouldn't be difficult, should it?”
The White Walker relayed this to the Frost King.
After listening, the Frost King spun the dragon-forged dagger in his hand. “Good. Listen, I’ll give you one second.”
With that, the dagger suddenly appeared before Achilles, piercing his holy light barrier!
The dagger was indeed extraordinary; it cut into the golden light. While not completely severed, it embedded itself in the invisible barrier!
The undead was momentarily stunned. He hadn't even realized when the Frost King had struck?!
It was almost instantaneous, less than a second!
The nearby White Walker didn't even have time to translate his words!
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
But the undead quickly recovered; instantly extending his staff to chant an incantation!
This time!
A blinding green light bloomed, forming a grasping hand that pierced through the barrier, seizing the amulet on Achilles' chest!
Achilles reacted, frantically grabbing for the amulet!
But he was too late!
The instant the green light coalesced into a hand and seized the amulet, it vanished!
The skeleton spread its hands; the amulet appeared in its grasp!
“Surprise! This is a spell I devised myself.”
“Of course, it was specially prepared for you. It’s called the ‘Thief’s Hand’ spell.”
The undead hadn't finished speaking when, a second later, the amulet vanished from his hand.
Huh?
The undead stared, searching around, only to find the amulet in the Frost King's hand?!
Did he know the Thief's Hand spell?
No, that was impossible; there was no magical energy fluctuation around him.
Green flames flickered in the skeleton's eyes. “You… when…?”
The Frost King, though unable to understand, sensed what the undead meant.
“Didn’t you promise me two ancient magical artifacts? You haven't produced the second one yet, so this belongs to me.”
The White Walker translated for the undead.
“This is a trophy of war, not part of our agreement. You still need to provide the second ancient artifact you promised.”
What?!
The undead’s anger flared, but he suppressed it.
Calm down. Deep breaths…
Dealing with Achilles was the priority; other matters were trivial. They could settle accounts later!
“His protection is gone! Attack!”
The undead pulled a sword from its skeletal remains, its hand gripping the blade as it chanted an incantation!
A second later, a green flame ignited on the blade!
“Jade Flame Sword!”
“It’s yours.”
The Frost King accepted the green-flamed sword. This flame was devoid of heat, yet devoured surrounding light!
The Frost King dismounted; time froze once more!
He charged, the green-flamed sword aimed at Achilles' head!
Blocked!
The sword was deflected before it even reached Achilles!
The Frost King's face paled; why was the golden light still there?
He discarded the Jade Flame Sword and stormed back to his position.
“You're toying with me?”
“Huh?”
“That golden protection isn't gone?”
The undead didn’t understand, but quickly saw what was happening.
Undead charging forward were repelled by the golden light!
The golden light was still active?
Impossible?!
Amidst the confusion, Achilles pulled another amulet from his chest!
By the feel of it… that… seemed to be the real one?
The one they'd taken was a replica!
“We’ve been tricked!”
“The one we took was a fake!”
With the undead’s roar, Achilles thrust his sword into the ground!
BOOM!
...
The enemy was well-prepared; the rear situation was unclear. This operation was too large-scale; things were unlikely to be simple.
Achilles knew something was amiss in the rear; he had no time to tangle with the Frost King and Styx.
Their preparations against Achilles certainly held further schemes.
More importantly, the Frost King’s abilities were bizarre; Achilles had never witnessed such methods.
Not magic, nor any energy manipulation, but a direct manipulation of rules and fundamentals.
Touching upon the very roots of existence—something Achilles had sensed before.
And that undead was not Styx's true form; his so-called uncle was no ordinary dog.
He wouldn't reveal his true form unless confident.
Speaking of his uncle, Zohn Musa, his name was not Styx; that title was ancient.
Forty years ago, the Yaren Empire was unprecedentedly powerful, yet that power wasn't built on any single individual.
Because back then, Achilles was merely an eleven-year-old child.
At that time, Zohn Musa and Achilles' father were both renowned generals of the Empire.
Simultaneously, the Woma Empire declared war on Yaren; the battleground was Styx.
That battle, historically known as the Styx Campaign, lasted two years. The initial Yaren dominance gradually reversed.
The front lines collapsed; the Woma Empire counterattacked against Yaren!
Achilles' father perished in one of those battles; the mastermind behind it all was a man named Owonaka.
He was a member of the Woma Imperial family, possessing exceptional magical talent; becoming a pseudo-legendary mage at the age of thirty.
He is the father of the current Crimson Hawk Lady, one of humanity's four greatest powers.
He single-handedly wiped out the Yaren army at Styx!
Achilles both understood and didn't understand the battle’s details; he only remembered his uncle, Zohn Musa, leading the black knights to push the front lines back.
Even killing that pseudo-legendary mage!
Zohn Musa rose to fame because of this battle at Styx. The old King, to commemorate his unparalleled achievement, bestowed Styx upon him, elevating him to Duke.
Thus, he became known as Duke Styx, or Marshal Styx.
Sadly, he couldn't maintain this glory.
Four years later, his forbidden experiments and research were exposed, revealing the truth.
Zohn Musa had been conducting necromantic research, achieving astounding results!
His victory at Styx was achieved by transforming the fallen into undead!
This explained the absence of prisoners; everyone involved was executed on the spot.
The survivors were all Styx's loyal subordinates.
Perhaps this wasn't a big deal; merely using unsavory methods to win a war.
But Yaren was a dual-power parliamentary nation; the Church held even greater authority than the King!
The Church strictly forbade all necromantic research; any contact with necromantic knowledge resulted in immediate elimination!
All involved were secretly executed, their remains then cleansed with mithril and holy water.
This prevented any subsequent necromancer from resurrecting them or communicating with them using spirit-speaking techniques.
For while their bodies might be dead, their spirits remained, and holy water and mithril nullified necromantic influence.
Beyond the Church, every nation loathed necromancy.
This stemmed from an ingrained fear and hatred born from the shattering devastation of the Fragmentation War!
This alone was enough to ignite the world's fury against Styx!
Even the old King accepted the Church's decision to execute Styx.
Although he'd long wanted Styx dead, he lacked a valid pretext.
His reasons were more complex; Styx was ambitious, his territory and legions growing yearly. He formed alliances within the kingdom, coercing and bribing dukes and nobles.
He presented a constant threat of rebellion; the old King couldn't rest until he was gone.
So, who revealed Styx's necromantic research?
The answer was clear: Achilles.
He acted out of self-preservation.
Styx planned to transform him into a new type of undead—a creature of hatred.
Upon discovering the truth, he didn't immediately expose Styx, but cooperated with his experiments.
Only after earning Styx's complete trust did he reveal the truth.
It was a tightrope walk; he couldn't escape Styx's territory alone.
His only option was to gain Styx's trust, proceeding cautiously, waiting for an opportunity.
The outcome speaks for itself; Achilles, fearless in the face of danger, earned the Church's approval and became the youngest Holy Temple apprentice.
...
Achilles thrust his sword into the ground; a resounding boom echoed!
A massive Holy Light Barrier erupted, instantly separating the Frost King and his undead horde!
The undead beside the Frost King’s head emitted a grating sound. “Damn it, I almost forgot… my nephew may seem foolish, but he’s been playing mind games with me since childhood!”
The Frost King's expression was strange.
What was this?
A barrier?
The undead pulled on the reins of the skeletal steed and turned to leave.
The Frost King couldn't understand, but the White Walker translated: “He says we shouldn't pursue; Achilles threw his sword and ran.”
Threw his sword?
The Frost King looked at the White Walker, gesturing towards the massive light barrier.
The White Walker instantly grasped his meaning and commanded the undead to attack the barrier.
The result was the same as Achilles' invisible shield; they couldn't break through it.
Achilles’ Holy Sword remained planted in the ground, continuously emitting a glory energy.
“Logically, he used the Holy Sword to create this barrier to stop us, then rode away?”
“But what if we break the barrier and take the Holy Sword?”
The Frost King posed this to Styx, who responded with a cold laugh.
“If you’ve got the guts, go get it.”
His tone suggested the Holy Sword might explode if touched.
Hard to say. The Frost King roughly assessed the barrier's extent; it stretched far and wide.
The edges were unseen; slightly troublesome.
But there was no choice but to find a way around.
Just as the Frost King considered this, the space before him warped!
A figure appeared out of nowhere, directly before the Frost King!
“Good evening~”
“Oh, it’s daytime here?”
The newcomer bore a sinister smile, two daggers in hand.
An old acquaintance of the Frost King.
“Did that Lord send you, or did Zero bring you here?”
Looking at the Frost King, Arthur suddenly smiled. “Considering your first reaction wasn't to attack me, how do you feel?”
This implied Lord Aurora had sent him.
After all, Arthur showed no surprise at this world, suggesting prior knowledge and a mission.
Before the Frost King could speak, The Clown gazed at the Holy Sword planted in the ground. “That sword… looks familiar.”
With that, Arthur began walking towards the Holy Sword.
“I suggest you…”
CRACK!
Before the Frost King finished, the massive light barrier shattered instantly!
The sound stunned the Frost King; Arthur remained in a mid-swing pose.
“How did you do that?”
Arthur turned, a playful smile on his face. “Ever heard of absolute attributes?”
He waved his hand and retrieved the Holy Sword from the ground.
Nothing happened; he casually broke the barrier.
Absolute Severance and Absolute Penetration.
This guy…
Is simply the ultimate spear.
The Frost King approached Arthur; the undead rode back.
Though Arthur’s origins were unknown, his speech suggested an alliance with the Frost King.
Styx desperately wanted to ask, "Is he your friend?"
This was terrifying!
With a casual swing, he'd broken the holy barrier?!
What kind of joke was this?
Was this still the world he knew?
Arthur had successfully delivered a dimensional reality check to the extra-dimensional natives.
This left Styx questioning his existence. The holy barrier, which had plagued him for years, was casually broken.
Insane.
This world had gone insane!
What kind of monsters were these people?
Where did they come from?
Ignoring the shocked Styx, the Frost King looked at Arthur; a powerful reinforcement.
But…
“Just you?”
Arthur turned. “Of course… not.”
“Two more are on their way. Various reasons prevent their arrival; otherwise, they'd crush us.”
Crush us?
Could it be the Sea King?
...
Though not the Sea King, they were ocean-series creatures.
On the mainland, a colossal monster descended from the sky, plunging directly into the ocean!
BOOM!
Enormous waves erupted, creating an unprecedented maelstrom!
It was a creature over two thousand meters long!
Designation 027: Leviathan.
And Designation 007: Siren.
The Siren's arrival was accidental.
Leviathan was so immense that Mei hadn't noticed the Siren clinging to it.
When Mei launched Leviathan, she inadvertently flung the Siren as well.
Leviathan, or perhaps Vespa, took this mission seriously.
He'd been idle for a long time; the Sea King was missing, and the Supreme God ignored him.
He felt forgotten; such a massive being reduced to insignificance.
However, he wasn't bored; Kitsune often visited and fed him.
Their purpose was amusing; they wanted Vespa's saliva after eating.
They didn't know why they needed this saliva, but regularly fed Vespa to obtain it.
They hadn't considered subduing Vespa; it was simply impractical!
First, there was no cage large enough in the world.
Second, even if such a cage existed, they had nowhere to put it.
Finally, nothing could carry Vespa.
So the Kitsune abandoned the idea of capture; Vespa was harmless, so they tossed him into the sea.
As for why they collected Vespa's saliva, it was because that fluid possessed a unique property.
Like a fish's short memory, this fluid made the consumer's memory incredibly short.
But this wasn't the primary use; it could erase memories based on dosage.
A single dose could make a person forget a month's worth of memories!
This was the Kitsune's primary method of memory erasure.
However, that was an Earth-bound matter; let's set it aside for now.
Vespa's mission in this other world was simple: identify powerful beings in the ocean.
This was the reconnaissance team.
Mei didn't expect them to kill those otherworldly powerhouses; they were to gather information.
Aside from the Frost King, there were no genuine 4th Step beings.
Of course, The Clown, a 3rd Step, might possess the ability to defeat 4th Step beings.
But that wasn't the primary objective.
The main goal was to discover hidden 6th Step or higher beings.
The Frost King and True Ancestor were on land; what about the sea?
Vespa's size made it hard to remain unnoticed. Throwing him into the sea was likely to stir things up.
Siren had no mission.
And she wasn't the only one; there was 009.
That one never understood human speech; Mei was too lazy to communicate; he could do as he pleased.
...
A month and a half later.
A four-person team arrived at the endless wasteland, but they were clearly late; nothing remained but corpses.
“Freezing cold… did we come to the wrong place?”
“Right? Is this still the endless wasteland?”
“Everywhere is ice and snow.”
One man carried a lute; rubbing his hands, he shivered. It was truly freezing.
Even the fur coats barely offered protection from the biting cold.
“I think we’re right, but we're late.”
“Finished?”
“Not necessarily; maybe they moved elsewhere.”
“Why not ask?”
“Ask?”
“There's not a single soul for hundreds of miles; who are you going to ask?”
The lute-carrying man looked confused. The Paladin produced an amulet from his chest. “This is an ancient magical artifact; it allows communication with the dead.”
“Huh?”
“Isn’t that a necromantic artifact? Is it appropriate for a Paladin to possess this?”
“Not appropriate, that’s why you’re asking.” The Paladin handed the amulet to the lute-carrying man.
“I’m asking?”
“Are you sure?”
009, observing from the team, showed a thoughtful expression. He didn’t understand their conversation.
Nor did he comprehend the amulet's function, but judging by their demeanor, it seemed significant.
The lute-carrying man approached a corpse, holding the amulet, and chanted an incantation.
A green light emanated; the dead undead sat up.
The Paladin said, “You can ask.”
“But remember, only five questions.”
The man pondered. “Did you die in the battle of the Eternal Wasteland?”
The corpse responded, “Yes.”
The man turned to the Paladin. “That’s one question; four remain?”
The corpse replied, “Yes.”
The man was stunned. “Wait, that counted as a question?”
The corpse said, “Yes.”
The man twitched. “Can you stop answering questions I didn’t ask? I’m done, okay?”
The corpse replied, “Okay.”
“So, you used up four of our questions?” a half-elf woman commented.
The corpse replied, “Correct.”
Click.
The corpse fell back down; the man covered his face.
"Become different humans."
“Who turned you into this state?”
“Frost King…”
“Who is the Frost King?”
“Don’t know…”
Three.
The corpse fell back; the man surveyed the corpses, stroking his brow. “Why can we only ask five questions?”
“That’s the rule.”
“Who set the rule?”
“Don’t know.”
These spirit-speaking rules were strange. Why could a corpse only be questioned once? Why only five questions?
The man put away the amulet. “Alright, alright. At least we know the enemy has roughly one hundred thousand troops heading towards the Yaren capital.”
“I think we should head back.”
The half-elf woman looked at him incredulously. “You’re giving up your heroic quest?”
The lute-carrying man pointed at the half-elf. “First, we need to understand something.”
“You, half-elf, are a simple, unassuming hunter.”
“You, Paladin, have broken your oath; without holy power, you can’t use Holy Slash.”
“And him, of unknown origin.”
“I, a hero whose spirit matches his strength, a beloved lute-playing swordsman.”
“We are four; they are one hundred thousand.”
The half-elf blinked. “But you said you were going to fight the undead.”
The man gestured at the snowy wasteland. “I thought this was a battle of people against people, a defense of our homes.”
“But it turns out we have no allies; we have to defeat those undead alone.”
“This story has become one of national restoration, beyond our capabilities!”
“So what do you plan to do now?”
“Me?”
“I plan…”
“To run away?”
Something in this struck a nerve; the words died in his throat.
“Larter, to run away; only then… will they not find you…”
Damn it.
The lute-carrying man gritted his teeth. “We’re going to the capital!”
“Huh?”
Jena was stunned. “Why? You just said…”
“To the capital.”
Watching Larter’s back, the others exchanged glances. “Has he gone mad?”
“Who knows? He's clearly a Moor.”
“What’s wrong with being a Moor?”
“Moors are selfish.”
“Uh…”
...
Night fell upon the Yaren capital.
A blood moon hung in the sky; the city was overrun.
Styx was right; Achilles' return was too late.
The inner city was eerily silent; shadowy movements in the darkness, the city walls devoid of soldiers.
Achilles entered; the streets were awash in blood.
Some appeared fresh, yet the city was terrifyingly quiet, a city of the dead.
The soldiers behind him exchanged glances. “What happened to the capital?”
“Why is it like this?”
Achilles said nothing, riding towards the cathedral.
The immense cathedral was deathly quiet.
Achilles descended, but saw no corpses; the holy water basin was stained crimson.
He pressed deeper, towards the main hall.
The Holy Scripture lay torn in two, bearing a distinct footprint!
Achilles regulated his breathing and struck a pillar.
BOOM!
A deafening sound echoed from beneath; the cathedral floor collapsed, revealing a spiral staircase.
This was the Church’s hidden vault, unknown to outsiders.
Achilles descended into the vault, finding no blood or signs of battle. He pushed open a large door bearing a cross.
Countless Church members and elderly people and children were huddled together.
Fear and uncertainty etched upon their faces.
But upon seeing Achilles, their fear turned to joy!
“Sir Achilles?”
“It’s the Sword Saint, Sir Sword Saint!”
“You’ve returned?!”
A Church member ran to Achilles. “The light… the light, the Holy Scripture is powerless!”
“Those Vampires, those undead… they fear not the Holy Scripture! This is God’s punishment! God wants us dead!”
Achilles’ face was icy. “It’s not the scripture’s power that’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
The Church member was stunned. Achilles said nothing, proceeding deeper into the vault.
The civilians and Church members surged forward, clamoring.
“Sir, you must save us!”
“Those damned Vampires, they killed my daughter!”
“God, protect us! Protect Sir Achilles! May he defeat those vile Vampires.”
They prayed fervently, hoping Achilles, the Empire’s protector, the Church's hero, would save them.
“Get out!”
Achilles roared; radiant waves of light erupted, blasting the civilians and Church members away!
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Civilians were thrown against the walls and pillars; bones shattered, blood spattered everywhere!
The force was terrifying; not a mere deterrent, but a killing blow!
In an instant, only one remained.
The Church member stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened.
What… had happened?
Was this a hallucination?
Was that man… Achilles?
Blood formed a circle on the floor, the spreading crimson contained by a golden light.
Achilles remained pristine, untouched by blood or filth.
But the Church member could no longer remain calm!
He fell to his knees, terrified. “What… what are you doing? You killed civilians!”
“Have you forgotten your oaths and tenets? You’re mad!!”
“You’ll lose your Paladin’s power! You’ll lose God’s protection! You’ll fall into the abyss of eternal darkness!”
“Tch.”
Achilles snapped his fingers, instantly appearing before the Church member, seizing his head!
BOOM!
A radiant wave erupted; a terrifying force crushed the man's skull!
Breaking an oath was more than just words.
A Paladin’s power stems from their tenets, their inner purity and goodness, directly linked to glory power.
Even mages couldn't wield this glory power.
Only those with truly pure hearts could control this righteous, powerful force.
If a Paladin broke their oath, losing their inner righteousness and goodness, this power would vanish instantly.
The tenets were crucial.
As long as they didn't violate their tenets, even killing was acceptable.
For instance, rejecting the Seven Commandments but embracing a black flag oath of vengeance would significantly reduce the constraints of the tenets.
But Achilles' situation was unique; he had over two hundred oaths.
His tenets were meticulously crafted by several archbishops, leaving no room for error.
In other words, even under normal circumstances, any action could lead to a breach of oath.
For example, seeing someone in need but not helping.
Or even a fleeting malicious thought, such as, "That woman's quite arrogant," could lead to a breach.
It was a state of absolute purity of thought.
His previous actions had violated at least ninety oaths.
Logically, he should have lost his glory power.
