Paladin of the Dead God
Chapter 379: Eternal Pallor (5)

Crack. Crunch.

Ansel’s skin split open, and his hair crumbled into white ash. Even his breath froze the moment it left his lips, painting the corners of his mouth in frosty white. In mere moments, Ansel became a motionless, pale figure.

The knights watching wanted to scream. But how could they cry out when Ansel, who was clearly enduring the most agony, did not even utter a sound? All they could do was sing their hymns louder, as if to push back the encroaching despair.

Crumble, crackle…

Rottenhammer watched as Ansel’s body seemed to deteriorate. Fingers fell off, ears disintegrated, and his entire figure became increasingly blunted. Yet, Ansel continued to walk forward.

It was an unbelievable sight.

But no one watching thought that Ansel was dying.

It felt more like he was shedding something—discarding an old, worn-out husk.

Something incomprehensible was stirring within him, casting off its shell.

Rottenhammer realized that this knight was transforming into something completely unlike his former self.

As his crumbling form advanced, Ansel reached out with what remained of his rounded hand and touched the Hidden Rite’s Shroud as if seeking permission.

Then, his body slipped through the shroud and vanished into the darkness.

***

What is this?

Isaac, locked in a fierce battle with Pallor, felt a strange sense of unease.

He couldn’t focus on the feeling, though. Unlike other archangels, Pallor did not conserve her power or lower her guard. Her entire physical form and all her might were present here, fully focused on Isaac.

Even a single moment of inattention could result in the archangel crushing him under the weight of her power.

Only the Issacrea Knight Order’s hymns, driving back the cold, allowed Isaac to stand against her.

Drip. Drop.

Tentacles began to coil around Isaac’s sword hand like roots. By now, his form was almost unrecognizable as human. Pallor, filled with loathing and revulsion, poured even more power into tearing him apart.

The creeping cold advanced closer, even freezing the tentacles themselves.

That’s when Isaac felt it again—the odd sensation.

[The Nameless Chaos watches you.]

Something was approaching. It sought Isaac’s permission, waiting for him to invite it.

With all his familiars and allies left behind, Isaac couldn’t identify what it was. But he didn’t care anymore.

Any wildcard could help bring Pallor down.

He gave his silent consent.

The shroud parted, and something began to take form.

Isaac still couldn’t comprehend what it was.

It was clear only that it had once been human—a knight. Though its body had been worn down by the extreme cold, the faint silhouette of its armor remained.

Isaac couldn’t even understand how it was walking.

To be honest, it unnerved him. The figure resembled a wandering wraith, lost in an eternal snowstorm. For a fleeting moment, Isaac thought Pallor might have tricked him, but her reaction surprised him.

[What is that?]

For the first time, Pallor’s attention shifted away from Isaac to the approaching figure.

[What did you summon, monster? Another beast of Chaos? A grotesque mockery pretending to be a knight? Your hypocrisy disgusts me.]

Pallor’s anger boiled over.

For someone who both adored and loathed noble knights, the sight of this was deeply offensive—an insult to everything she valued.

“So Pallor didn’t summon it?”

Isaac observed the knight advancing slowly toward Pallor. The archangel lashed out with a wave of cold, but it had no effect.

Whatever this being was, it had already surpassed the boundaries of her heat death domain.

It seemed closer in nature to something from the Immortal Order.

But Isaac felt the truth resonate within him.

“Ansel?”

The realization struck him like a thunderclap.

Isaac understood everything about the figure—the name, the thoughts echoing in his mind, even the prayer Ansel still muttered despite his missing tongue. Most of all, Isaac sensed the burning heart beating fiercely within that frozen, battered body.

A tiny but profound miracle propelled and protected Ansel.

Isaac shivered, not from the cold, but from awe.

This world grants strength to those who desire it.

Yearning manifests as miracles.

To warriors who believe their swords can solve anything within their reach, the world grants sword aura. To priests who entrust their will and purpose to a deity, it grants divine blessings.

Just as the fear of death gave rise to the afterlife, and the longing for a stable future birthed gods…

“If you believe in the Holy Grail Knight, you won’t die.”

***

Ansel slowly extended a hand toward Pallor.

If even a single Death Knight had been nearby, they might have stopped him. But every Death Knight had either shattered from the cold or been obliterated by Isaac. The closest ones were too far to intervene.

But what’s he planning?

Ansel’s fumbling hand reached for Pallor. But even if he touched her, what could he possibly do? Was he going to try and strangle her? While strangling an archangel—let alone an undead one—would certainly be a legendary feat, Ansel didn’t even have intact fingers left.

And no matter how focused Pallor was on her duel with Isaac, she wasn’t weak enough to be subdued by a single mortal.

Yet, against all logic, Ansel’s fingertips brushed against Pallor.

The moment he made contact, Ansel moved faster than anyone had ever seen him move before. In a single, swift motion, he struck Pallor’s head with what remained of his arm.

Both Isaac and Pallor froze in shock at the unexpected punch.

Thud! Bang!

Ansel didn’t stop. He struck Pallor’s head again.

But with each blow, it wasn’t Pallor’s head that cracked—it was Ansel’s arm.

[What… is this!?]

Crack, shatter.

Ansel’s entire body fractured under Pallor’s unleashed power. His limbs disintegrated, his torso split open, and through the broken remains, his heart was finally revealed.

It pulsed with fiery light, radiating heat with each beat.

Though his outward form had become grotesque, his heart was warm, alive, and vibrant.

Waves of energy radiated from his heart in strange fractal patterns. For a fleeting moment, Isaac thought the patterns resembled tentacles, but they were different—more precise, orderly, and geometric.

These fractal waves extended like a hand, reaching out.

Then, Ansel’s arm struck Pallor’s head once more.

Boom.

With that final punch, Ansel’s heart shattered into a brilliant cascade of white light. Pallor’s head bore a faint crack from the unexpected blow, but it was enough.

Even Pallor, exerting her full power against Isaac, faltered.

[Ah…]

The delicate balance of power, taut as a string, snapped all at once. Isaac seized the moment of collapse, pouring every ounce of his strength into his strike.

Kaldwin cleaved through Pallor and Winterfang, splitting their blades.

The black energy of the holy sword annihilated even the shards of bone and fragments of her sculpture-like body, leaving nothing behind.

Pallor let out a terrible, otherworldly scream as her form crumbled beneath the blade.

A massive wave of force erupted, sweeping Isaac backward. The countless spirits bound within Winterfang were freed, and Pallor’s soul, severed from her body, began to flail aimlessly. The unleashed power of an archangel combined with the liberated souls created a storm of chaos that Isaac couldn’t withstand.

The shroud around them dissipated, releasing the black veil of the Hidden Rite.

Rumble…

A torrent of spirits scattered into the sky, finally liberated.

The artificial eclipse Pallor had conjured also broke apart as her flock of skeletal birds scattered, letting sunlight pierce through once more. Isaac felt the warmth of sunlight seep into his battered body, comforting him.

With the shroud gone and sunlight returning, the knights of the Issacrea Knight Order rushed forward. When they saw Isaac, barely standing amid the wreckage, they were left speechless.

“Isaac… we need to treat your wounds…”

Gebel approached, but Isaac raised a hand to stop him. Instead, Isaac turned toward where Ansel had fallen.

Ansel’s head and limbs were gone, and his torso, still wrapped in fractured armor, was barely intact. The moment Isaac touched it, the remnants crumbled into dust, scattering as if they had aged a thousand years in an instant.

The knights who witnessed it slowly began to kneel in reverence, one by one.

Isaac felt a pang of regret. He hadn’t taken the time to talk to Ansel, to truly know him before this moment.

***

“Ansel was a devoted participant in the Dawn Prayer Group,” one knight explained.

“The Issacrea Dawn Prayer Group?” Isaac asked, curious to learn more about the fallen knight.

The group, established to reform former followers of the Nameless Chaos and nurture their faith, was unconventional by the standards of the Codex of Light—some even considered it borderline heretical. Yet Ansel had been a regular participant.

“Yes. He often shared testimonies of faith and spoke of his admiration for you, Sir Isaac. While many respected you, none were as passionate as he was.”

Isaac felt a strange unease.

To learn that someone had held such fervent faith in him, a faith he had been completely unaware of, unsettled him.

In a sense, Ansel had crossed a line, becoming more than a follower—he had become one of Isaac’s devotees.

Isaac didn’t know how to feel about someone who would willingly give their life for him.

To be honest, it didn’t feel good.

Isaac had always strived for a world where no one needed to sacrifice themselves. A world where people could live without hesitation, without the need for martyrdom.

Had Ansel’s sacrifice been necessary because of Isaac’s reckless choices?

Was Isaac, despite his intentions, acting no differently than the gods and angels he despised?

Sensing Isaac’s turmoil, the knight who had been speaking to him offered words of comfort.

“You seem troubled, Sir Isaac.”

“I can’t help but wonder if my reckless actions cost him his life,” Isaac admitted.

The knight responded with calm conviction.

“We all came here prepared to sacrifice ourselves. We’re here not to seek your protection but to fight alongside you. We are comrades, not children.”

Isaac absorbed the words, finally grounding himself in reality.

Countless knights had died in this battle. Ansel’s death was no exception. If anything, his sacrifice was extraordinary, helping to defeat an archangel—a death any knight would consider an honor.

“He died for what he believed in. He would be glad. Surely the gates of Heaven will open wide to welcome him,” the knight concluded.

Isaac reflected on the knight’s words and realized the true source of his guilt.

In his final moments, Ansel had not looked like a knight of the Codex of Light.

He had sacrificed himself for Isaac. Did that make Isaac an apostle of the Nameless Chaos after all?

If so, had Ansel’s noble sacrifice condemned him to the twisted, chaotic realm of the Nameless Chaos?

Isaac couldn’t bear the thought of someone as selfless as Ansel being cast into that dark, warped domain.

More than that, the fractal light Ansel had shown in his final moments had been fundamentally different from the energy of the Nameless Chaos.

“If that final display was an idealized form of what he believed in me to be…”

For the first time, Isaac found himself deeply pondering the afterlife.

He began to understand why people imagined Heaven, why they clung to the concept of Urbansus as a place of eternal peace and light.

Isaac hoped for one thing: that Ansel’s sacrifice would lead him to a beautiful, serene paradise.

And that the knight who had served a dead god would finally find his place in the Heaven of his dreams.