Paladin of the Dead God
chapter-195

Bang! Bang! Each harpoon strike created a significant fracture among the zombie forces. This harpoon wasn’t designed for human adversaries but for battling massive sea monsters like giant whales or sea serpents. It had also been used recently to hunt the Drowned King.

Rosalind leaned out over the ship’s railing to look down at Mors.

“General Mors, it seems you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament,” she observed.

Mors hadn’t expected to feel any sort of warmth towards Rosalind, so he was caught off-guard and momentarily lost for words, his mouth agape.

With a mocking smile, Rosalind turned to the sailors and commanded,

“It seems the landlubbers have pissed themselves at the might of the Salt Council! Snap them out of it!”

“Aye!” the sailors responded eagerly.

The sailors of the Salt Council heartily responded, launching harpoon fire and arrows at the zombies. The colossal ship was virtually a moving fortress. The zombies could do nothing against the onslaught from the ships of the Salt Council.

On the bridge, there were still a few undead knights, but they were soon crushed under the charge of the Knights of Aldeon. Once the undead knights were thoroughly obliterated beyond recovery, Rosalind lowered a ladder to the side of the ship.

“Madam Rosalind, I am at a loss for how to express my gratitude…”

As the Knights of Aldeon and the Knights of Elion boarded Rosalind’s ship, Mors expressed his thanks. He too had been a subordinate of the late King Alfred and was not unrelated to the massacres that had occurred in Saltain. Yet, to be saved by Rosalind left him without words.

However, Rosalind scoffed in response.

“Hmph. Gratitude need not be spoken, just not forgotten.”

“I will not forget, at least until I die. Neither will my men nor the knights present here,” Mors vowed.

Delfric and Reyna, who had narrowly escaped death, nodded vigorously, but Lavad seemed puzzled and asked,

“But how did you find the way to the lake? Most of the channels were blocked or too dangerous to navigate…”

Naturally, there was a river connecting the lake surrounding the Holy Land of Elion to the sea. However, the army of Georg, preparing for war, had long since installed barriers to prevent ships from navigating upstream.

Rosalind laughed dismissively.

“Those toys? They’re a joke compared to what I dealt with in my days as a pirate, or rather, a righteous outlaw. Just haul the ship over the mountains.”

“…You dragged a ship over mountains?”

Lavad reexamined the size of the ship, finding it hard to believe. A small boat for a dozen people might be one thing, but this was the size of a battleship. Yet Reyna firmly stated,

“Nothing is impossible if you have a clear purpose and will, and know the way. Especially if it involves something the sailors of the Salt Council and the Holy Grail Knight are committed to.”

said this with Reyna a smirk.

“Besides, I already knew the easiest route to reach the Holy Land of Elion.”

“Why? How…” Lavad’s question hung in the air as Rosalind merely twisted her lips without answering.

Mors, listening from the side, thought it best not to pry further.

Until recently, Rosalind had been consumed by thoughts of vengeance. She likely had even planned out how to deal with the Holy Land.

“It’s better not to know scary stories, young knight. By the way, where is our dear Holy Grail Knight?”

Mors then pointed toward the direction of the Holy Land of Elion.

“The Holy Land! His Majesty Edelred went towards the Holy Land of Elion with Georg on his tail; we must hurry!”

“Don’t fret, General Mors. I have words for Georg as well…”

***

From beyond the mist, a massive warship emerged. Bearing the flag of Saltain, the ship sped toward the bridge where Mors stood, crashing into it with ferocious speed.

Bang! Nearly crushed by the ship, Mors gasped in shock and stumbled back. Even for Villon, the undead swordmaster, it would be difficult to survive being squeezed between a stone bridge and the massive vessel.

“Villon!”

Atop the prow, Rosalind with her silver hair flying wildly, roared in a voice that belied her age. It seemed that a loud voice was a fundamental trait among the followers of Elil.

“Villon Georg! It’s me! Rosalind of Saltain!”

“Rosalind? Damn it, how did you…”

Villon was puzzled as to how the ship of Saltain had managed to navigate to the lake, let alone approach the Holy Land through the fog.

But there she was, unmistakably present, standing fearlessly on the railing looking down at Villon.

“This isn’t your place to intervene, Rosalind! Stand down!”

Isaac somehow felt that Villon and Rosalind knew each other quite well, as people usually addressed her with formal titles like ‘Lady Rosalind.’

Loud enough for everyone to hear, Rosalind said,

“I heard you joined the Dawn Army voluntarily after I chose Theobald. Villon! But that doesn’t mean you should ruin the country! Half the world is female, after all!”

“How long will you keep dredging up that old story! I’m already married with grown kids, you crazy woman!”

Villon shouted as if he was about to explode.

Isaac felt slightly taken aback listening to the scandalous history between the undead swordmaster and the widowed pirate captain, but supposed that such old acquaintances might have many intertwined tales.

With a smile still playing on her lips, Rosalind looked down at Villon and said,

“Yes, I was glad to hear you were doing well. But why stir up this plague now?”

“It’s for my brother’s vengeance! You have no part in this…”

“Who’s speaking of vengeance in front of whom here?”

Chilled by Rosalind’s icy remark, Villon shut his mouth.

She slid down a rope that hung from the prow.

The knights, Isaac, and everyone else gasped as she boldly faced hundreds of undead knights and the newly awakened undead swordmaster. Only the seasoned sailors who had long known her remained unsurprised.

It was like a scene from decades ago, a female pirate battling against knights of Elil.

Lady Rosalind, with her hair wet from the rain, spoke again,

“Say it again, Villon. Whose vengeance are you speaking of now?”

“I am…”

“Are you speaking of vengeance for Vio Georg?”

Villon clamped his mouth shut.

Vio Georg had been the one ordered by the late King Alfred to destroy the Saltain, with the largest responsibility lying on the king himself. However, Vio Georg could have refused or even passively resisted but had instead dutifully carried out his role.

He bore undeniable responsibility for the massacre of Saltain.

As a result of the massacre, overwhelmed by guilt, Vio Georg had starved himself to death. While Villon might have grounds to protest against the royal house of Aldeon, he could not call for vengeance in front of Rosalind.

“The greatest right to vengeance is mine, Villon. Any objections?”

“…”

Villon could only growl in pain, unable to respond. The threats he had been voicing about killing Isaac and Edelred, and resurrecting Elil as undead to destroy the kingdom, could not be maintained in front of Rosalind.

All his reasons for vengeance fell powerless before her.

“In my presence, even the Georg family is nothing but sinners. Any objections?”

“…”

Villon could have killed Rosalind right there and continued with his mission. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Villon’s brother had taken his own life to atone for his misdeeds. To kill Lady Rosalind would be to deny not only his brother but also himself.

His sense of justification was still paramount.

Vengeance was the only thing that drove him.

“Then you should have joined in the vengeance!”

Villon finally unleashed his suppressed anger in a shout.

“I thought you would join in vengeance against the Aldeon royal family! If only Theobald, that weak pacifist, hadn’t been there! I thought you, of all people, would want to dry up the seed of the Aldeon royal family as much as I did!”

The knights around felt a chilling energy as the swordmaster’s genuine fury erupted, sharp enough to wound their skin.

Rosalind stood calmly before him, meeting his gaze.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But why! I thought the opportunity had finally come when Theobald Saltain died! Why now do you spout nonsense about peace!”

Where is justice to be found?

It was a cry Rosalind had shouted into the void, a prayer left unanswered.

After wandering lost, Rosalind had finally encountered justice. She pulled from her bosom what she had discovered as justice.

Villon looked strangely at Rosalind as she drew a dagger from her pocket.

“What is that? What are you going to do with it?”

Stabbing a swordmaster with a dagger seemed ludicrous, and even if she did, Villon, being undead, could live eternally with it embedded in him.

However, Rosalind calmly dropped the dagger from her hand.

“Georg.”

“What?”

“Saltain forgives you all. So now, forgive yourselves.”

***

Forgiveness.

Villon felt Rosalind’s words touch something deep within him, something hidden away in his emotions. Her words cut through him more sharply and painfully than any weapon that had ever wounded his body.

Only then did Villon realize the true nature of his heart.

The emotion he had been feeling was not vengeance against the Aldeon royal house, but guilt over the disgraceful massacre committed by his brother. And he had been trying to offset that guilt by placing the blame on the Aldeon royal house.

“My father killed himself. Uncle,” Lianne’s words finally made sense to him.

“My father chose the path of dishonor because he lacked the courage to refuse an ignoble order. He then lacked the courage to seek forgiveness afterward. What my father truly lost was not his honor, but his courage.”

The courage to seek forgiveness.

If Villon had wanted to reclaim his honor, he should have sought forgiveness from Saltain first, rather than causing a civil war, a path he ignored because it seemed unchivalrous and not honorable enough.

In the end, he had faced the shame of being forgiven before he could even ask for it.

“What forgiveness, I never asked for, nor do I need any—”

Villon stopped himself as he tried to reject Rosalind’s words forcibly.

Villon’s breathing suddenly became labored.

An undead’s body no longer has a heartbeat or breaths. Yet, he felt as if his lungs were being squeezed, his insides twisted, his heart madly thumping. Villon tried to scream, but no breath came.

His body slowly crumbled.

Collapsed on the ground, Villon was unable to make a sound as he wept.

“What have I been fighting for all this time?”

How many of his kin had died? How many of his men had been driven to the battlefield?

Though his kin had actively supported the civil war, and his men were exhilarated by the opportunity for military glory, the civil war wasn’t driven by Villon alone, nor would it have been avoided without him.

But Villon wanted to scream only for the sins he personally committed.

“Lianne, that young child had already realized on her own!”

The child who had respected him simply because he was an adult and had accepted him without question.

But only Lianne had completed her own world, not swept away by the excesses of the adults around her, doing her best in her own place.

She knew what needed to be done, yet he had forcibly involved her. And he had stabbed that Lianne in the heart.

What vile acts he had committed.

Where could honor now be found?

Villon wanted to scream into the void. Then, suddenly, he saw Rosalind’s dagger fallen in front of him. That was it. Rosalind’s justice was right there.

Villon hurriedly picked up the dagger and aimed it at his own throat. Now, the only option left was to follow his brother’s path.

Thump. The dagger plunged into his neck swiftly, without anyone to stop him.

But the expected pain, the release of death, did not come.

It was then that Villon realized the horror of immortality.

Nowhere could he find honor anymore.

This world itself had become his eternal punishment, his own personal hell.

–TL Notes–