Paladin of the Dead God

Better to betray than to be betrayed.

Why wait for revenge after being betrayed when one could eliminate the threat preemptively?

This might seem like an apocalyptic mindset devoid of trust, but the concept of ‘betray first to avoid betrayal’ was surprisingly traditional. Perhaps the most famous historical example was Cao Cao.

Trust, after all, was a relatively recent invention.

People tend to envision a contrast between innocent savages and cunning, faithless civilized people, but reality is the opposite. Trust and honor were inventions of civilization.

When people began to form agricultural societies, build cities, and recognize close-combat groups as nobles, concepts like ‘morality, honor, and trust’ emerged. These were social restraints to keep powerful military groups from throwing society into chaos.

Groups commonly known as ‘knights’ pursued the illusion of honor and wore this yoke willingly, which ultimately became the privilege of the nobility.

People admire the successful, and so, civilized people came to revere the values of ‘morality, honor, and trust’ once reserved for nobles. This became the foundation of social order, something barbarians never understood.

Not because they were necessarily practical-minded, but because they simply hadn’t needed it. That’s why they remained barbarians.

In dealing with a barbarian, then, one sometimes had to become a bit of a barbarian oneself.

Sadraza was, after all, a being from a thousand years ago who might not grasp concepts like honor or morality.

***

“Do you truly believe Sadraza will betray us?”

Rumble, crash.

At the outskirts of Miarma.

Isaac was out hunting monsters in the desert.

A small city, likely a satellite town of Miarma in the past, had been built around what seemed to have once been an oasis.

At the center of this empty space was a massive spider-like creature, with limbs as thick as arms—though it was questionable whether it was really a spider. It appeared to have at least twenty legs, and the mass in the middle was a writhing amalgamation of tentacles, grotesquely imitating a human face.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Isaac had just finished hacking off its legs and plunging his own tendrils into the body, so he hadn’t quite heard Aidan.

“I asked if you really believe Sadraza would betray us.”

Once again, he’d only filled his stomach but hadn’t gained any particular benefit from Predation. Still, consuming a beast of Chaos brought him a feeling of fullness much faster than with ordinary creatures.

Isaac paused before responding.

“When we arrived in Miarma, something felt missing.”

“Missing?”

“There’s no cemetery.”

“A cemetery…?”

As Aidan scattered ceremonial salt over the Armye of the spider-beast, ensuring it would remain unspoiled for the ritual, he repeated Isaac’s words.

“From what I know, there were survivors in Miarma shortly after the disaster struck. There’s even a well still here, so it’s not entirely uninhabitable. Sure, the people were probably on the brink of death after the sea dried up… but there were people here.”

“That… makes sense?”

“But there wasn’t a single Armye in Miarma.”

Aidan, who had been about to suggest that it was only natural for thousand-year-old Armyes to turn to dust, felt a strange unease and closed his mouth.

A millennium would certainly reduce bodies to dust.

In a normal place.

But this was a place so extreme that even the sea had dried up.

“There might not be Armyes, but there could be mummies.”

An environment without rain, intensely dry air, abundant salt, and consistent weather with no temperature variation.

The perfect conditions for natural mummification.

Of course, Isaac wasn’t an expert in mummification, so it was possible he’d overlooked some factor. Other forces could also have removed the remains.

Finally, Aidan voiced what Isaac was hinting at.

“You think Sadraza offered the bodies as sacrifices?”

“There’s no cemetery. And without a sea to bury them in, that’s entirely plausible.”

Isaac added, as if making an excuse.

“Of course, I’m not certain. There could be any number of reasons the bodies disappeared. But one thing’s sure: someone who has done it once can always do it again.”

“But…”

“Aidan, Sadraza has lived as a scavenger for a thousand years. It’d be foolish to expect the honor or purity of a high priest from him. Not that it’s Sadraza’s fault. But the Sadraza of today might be a very different person from who he was a thousand years ago.”

Time changes people.

Many who endure severe mental trauma end up with a completely different personality.

Sadraza had endured both.

“But as I said, if Sadraza doesn’t betray us, then nothing will happen. He’ll be a bit disappointed in us, at most. The problem arises if he does betray us. In that case, the Issacrea Dawn Army could be annihilated. We can’t afford to take that risk, can we?”

“Yes, I understand. I was only wondering if Sadraza would truly risk betraying us. As you mentioned, he could break the Salt Desert without betraying us.”

Logically, Aidan was right. But Isaac, having experienced a victory on behalf of the Salt Council, knew that a ritual as powerful as Sadraza’s might fuel additional desires.

Sadraza might crave compensation for his thousand years of hardship and isolation.

And scavengers were often those who had cast aside principles like loyalty and morality to claim everything for themselves.

It was simply because Sadraza had lived this way that Isaac suspected him.

***

Isaac continued southward, searching for the required sacrifices, until he finally reached an area close to the Outer Boundary.

The Outer Boundary was closer to Miarma than Isaac had expected.

He wondered how people could have once built a city so near such a dangerous place, but then recalled that a thousand years ago, the Great Empires had centered themselves around the Holy Land of Lua.

Perhaps back then, this region was the heart of civilization, while areas now within the Gerthonia Empire were considered the outer reaches. For the people of Miarma, Lichtheim might have felt as distant and wild as the Outer Boundary did now.

Despite this, Isaac had no intention of venturing any closer to that crazed borderland. The Outer Boundary wasn’t a strict border like a line in the sand, but rather a hazy area between light and shadow.

In reality, the ‘line’ known as the Outer Boundary spanned tens of kilometers.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“What exactly lies beyond there?” Aidan asked, his voice tinged with fear as he looked southward over a valley of barren, rocky desert. Dark clouds thickened further out, casting an ominous shadow over the featureless gray wasteland that stretched into the distance. A lukewarm breeze drifted toward them from the void beyond.

Though they were nowhere near the actual Boundary, Aidan felt a sense of dread emanating from that wasteland, making him nauseous.

“I don’t know,” Isaac replied.