Paladin of the Dead God
chapter-122

The Lighthouse Keeper, Luadin.

He is the one who made the Codex of Light the most powerful faith in the world and still wields great authority as a renowned seraph. He was right there before Isaac’s eyes.

Around Luadin, there was a throng of people, indistinguishable whether they were followers or refugees, standing and watching the ships.

The flames he was raising were as high as the tall trees around him, but it was immediately apparent that there was no heat. This was evident because the refugees were crowded around him.

“There’s an angry man over there.”

At that moment, Amundalas’s voice was heard.

Isaac suddenly realized that Amundalas was standing right next to him. However, she was not buried in salt or desiccated by it; instead, she appeared as a seasoned veteran naval officer with sunburnt, tawny skin.

“Can you guess why that man is angry?”

In contrast, Isaac appeared to be a low-ranking sailor. Fiddling awkwardly with the spear shaft in his hand, he said,

“Because you promised to take Luadin and those refugees aboard but didn’t?”

“That’s right. That man has already paid a lot of gold. Now he can’t find another ship. Moreover, villains are chasing them from behind.”

Amundalas, with her arms crossed, faced Luadin. Watching her nemesis, who had destroyed her congregation, she seemed refreshingly untroubled, as if it were just like the day of the tragedy.

Luadin began to pray, looking up at the sky. Then, the refugees around him also started to kneel or prostrate themselves in prayer.

The sailors on the ship laughed or snorted at the sight.

‘It seems miracles were not common in this era?’

In Isaac’s time, even if it were not a bishop but a mere priest praying like that, the soldiers would be pulling their bowstrings in a fit or chiding their priest, asking why he wasn’t performing miracles.

Especially for someone with such a distinct physical presence. It would be fortunate if they didn’t fall into despair.

However, the sailors seemed oblivious to what was about to happen.

Suddenly, Luadin drew a dagger and wounded his palm. Instantly, flames burst forth from his body with ferocious intensity.

Isaac and the sailors held their breath at the sight.

The blazing flames quickly rose and became a sun above the port city.

Isaac felt as if he was going blind from the heat and brilliance. Would it feel like this to see the sun up close? His skin turned bright red as if it were cooking, and his whole body seemed to shrivel. It seemed not only Isaac felt this agony; everyone around him screamed and collapsed.

Then, all the pain stopped.

The sun had not disappeared. Isaac realized that Amundalas had blocked his senses. Not to protect him, but to ensure he witnessed the catastrophe.

Amundalas raised her hand to create a barrier of water. But even that bubbled and boiled away to nothing. Everyone scrambled for shade, and the sailors, blinded, couldn’t even flee.

Hell was all around.

And this hell was much more terrible, prolonged, and cruel than being burned at the stake.

It was too weak to kill by burning, yet too hot to survive. The sea boiled under the scorching heat. Ships carrying oil exploded, scattering oil rain everywhere.

Isaac wondered if this would harm the refugees, but the light was directed only at the sea.

The difference in brightness was such that, even under the same sun, Luadin and his surroundings appeared to be in the shade.

“Look, Isaac. This is the site of the first historic massacre created by a prophet who came to this land with truth and order.”

Isaac thought the catastrophe was terrible, but honestly, he wanted to argue that they should have kept their promise. After all, this catastrophe happened because the Salt Council did not keep their contract.

Amundalas laughed again, as if she knew what Isaac was thinking.

“You’re thinking… this happened because you didn’t keep your promise, right?”

Time seemed to fast-forward like a tape being rewound.

Suddenly, the surroundings became a scene all too familiar to Isaac. This place, once a thriving port city, was now dead, with ships either sunk or buried under the salt desert.

Luadin crossed the parched salt desert on foot and headed for the land beyond the sea.

To the land where the current Gerthonia Empire stands.

Amundalas watched the flames of Luadin crossing the salt desert and said,

“After that, Luadin spread the faith of the Codex of Light beyond the sea, receiving protection from many kings and emperors, and grew a great empire. The tale of the salt desert is always recounted with his historic emergence.”

She looked down at the dry salt desert and said,

“In fact, we did keep our promise at that time.”

***

“You say you kept your promise? Was that sea of fire the promise?”

“No, it means we did put Luadin on the ship. We ‘originally’ transported Luadin and his refugees by ship. That’s the real history. But the result was not pleasing to the one who calls.”

She tried to raise her finger but dropped it weakly.

“Unfortunately, I can’t ‘show’ you because it’s a history that has been erased.”

Isaac looked at Amundalas, wondering what she meant.

Amundalas, looking at Isaac, seemed to feel the need to explain further.

“When Luadin arrived at our sanctuary and port city, Miarma, we had two choices: to take him aboard or to ignore him. We chose to take Luadin aboard and send him across the sea. What do you think happened then?”

“Well… it must have turned out well.”

Considering the feats Luadin has shown now, it was clear he would have created a remarkable congregation, with or without the miracle of creating a salt desert. After all, he is still a renowned seraph, isn’t he? Luadin alone might be comparable to a significant faith.

“Yes. The outcome wasn’t much different from now. He established a great empire and dyed many vassal states in the name of the Codex of Light. Our congregation enjoyed the blessing of entering Urbansus and becoming one of the nine faiths, but we walked the path of decline, overshadowed by relative power.”

Not much different from now. But if there’s a difference, at least in the past that Amundalas speaks of, there would be no salt desert. Communication between gods and their followers would have been smooth, and angels would have existed.

“But the one who calls did not like that. And many angels, including myself, thought that we should have left Luadin to die rather than taking him aboard at that time.”

“You’re not suggesting we turn back time, are you?”

“No? What nonsense. Have you read too many novels?”

“…”

“It’s not about turning back time; it’s about revising history.”

“…How is that different?”

Amundalas scratched her head.

“Let me explain it this way. You’re walking down the road and find a knife on the ground. But you’re worried about being accused of theft, so you leave it and walk away.”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately, you encounter a robber on that road and end up being stabbed by that very knife that was on the ground. If you had picked up the knife, you might have survived.”

“There are crossroads in life, aren’t there? So?”

“But you’re already dead. That can’t be reversed. It’s a truly regrettable fact. Up to here, it’s a ‘fact’ that realistically happened.”

She looked intently at Isaac.

“But your surviving family would be different, right? They might resolve to carry a knife to protect themselves on their travels. But let’s say someone is a captain of the guard. From the captain’s perspective, he might not like people carrying knives around. Eventually, he decided to slightly modify the ‘fact’ that happened.”

“Modify what happened?”

“He spread the rumor that ‘you didn’t die because you lacked a knife, but because someone held a grudge against you.’ Your honor would be tarnished, but if the belief that ‘you got stabbed because you deserved it’ spreads, people will feel safer and reduce the number of times they carry knives around.”

“The relatives wouldn’t just stand by, would they?”

“Of course not. Either the captain or the relatives would fight over the ‘fact’ of your death. Regardless of the truth, the winner determines ‘history.’ Do you understand? ‘History’ and ‘fact’ are separate.”

Isaac finally understood what Amundalas was saying.

“Is that… what happened to the Salt Council?”

“Yes. ‘Factually,’ Luadin did not create the salt desert. But the Salt Council tried to revise that ‘history’ and ended up defeated, in a more terrible state.”

Amundalas stopped there, grinned, and said,

“Now do you understand that Urbansus is time itself that has passed?”

Isaac understood.

Eidan said that Urbansus is like a collective unconscious. Even the way to hold a spoon is learned from Urbansus.

But if one day the gods and angels decide in Urbansus that ‘there is no such thing as a spoon,’ then the spoon suddenly becomes an unidentified tool.

“‘Fact’ doesn’t need to be changed. If you change ‘history,’ ‘the present’ will be believed as the truth, and people’s perceptions and the world will also change. Just like the followers of the Salt Council now believe in a false history and cannot lie.”

There are multiple streams of time in the world.

That time is woven like warp and weft and becomes one present when overlapped.

If there is a god who cannot tolerate that history, they try to ‘revise’ it through miracles or angels. But if that request conflicts with other gods, the gods determine the direction of history through war or negotiation.

Once history is revised, we live as if we have always lived in that world from the beginning.

It’s an unbelievable thing, but that’s what’s possible in Urbansus.

The afterlife.

A place where the dead, worlds, knowledge, and time converge, Urbansus.

And one of those revised histories was the Salt Desert incident.

The war in Urbansus waged by the Salt Council and the Codex of Light.

“Then other faiths must have an afterlife too.”

“Not all. Only the nine faiths.”

Amundalas said with a smile.

“The ancient gods do not have an afterlife. How do you think the Codex of Light managed to defeat those mighty ancient gods and stand in their place now?”

There is no afterlife for ancient faiths.

Urbansus is only possessed by the nine faiths.

The ancient gods just wield power and enjoy authority in the present world.

Isaac could now understand how the ancient gods, who once built a great empire, fell and were defeated by the emerging force of the nine faiths.

The ancient faiths could not defeat the nine faiths, who brought the invention of the ‘afterlife.’

Led by the Codex of Light, the first to enter Urbansus, as other faiths appeared or joined, the ancient gods without an afterlife fell and degenerated into lowly beasts. Their once-held divinity was still strong but not comparable to the nine faiths.

“How that could happen, why there are ‘nine faiths,’ I cannot explain. I don’t know either, except that ‘it was always so.’ If anyone knows, it would be from the Codex of Light.”

Isaac realized just how complex and dangerous the world he thought was simply the afterlife, Urbansus, was.

There was a reason why the gods had to focus more energy and power on this place, which is merely an afterlife compared to the present.

No matter how much one wins in the present, if they lose in history, they don’t know how they will be transformed.

“People think of the afterlife as ‘a place where those who died in the past gather’…”

Amundalas said with a somewhat dry smile.

“Originally, the present is dominated by the past.”

***

After listening to Amundalas, Isaac thought for a moment before speaking.

“Thank you for explaining all this, but…”

However, there was one thing Isaac did not understand.

Why was Amundalas kindly explaining all this to him? After all, to Amundalas, he was nothing more than an uninvited guest.

Although the Drowned King had sent Isaac this far, Isaac was a suspicious character who had killed an angel of the Salt Council and harbored an unknown chaos within.

Yet, Amundalas kindly explained everything.

“Why are you explaining all this to me?”

Was it a request for cooperation for a new historical transformation? If so, Isaac could not accept it.

Even if it was a request to deal with Luadin, regardless of whether it was possible, Isaac could not even predict what would happen to reality as a result.

At that, Amundalas laughed heartily.

“Because you came to Urbansus in the first place to hear this explanation.”

“Yes?”

Isaac’s body tensed at the words that followed from Amundalas.

“Why do you think chaos chose you?”