Chapter 289: The Saint (2)
[You have retrieved the body of the Righteous Saint. You will inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: ]
The notification window trailed off, leaving an unsettling silence.
A faint sense of disorientation, as if the world had momentarily twisted.
Retrieving the bodies of transcendents was something Dalen had done many times before. The sensation was now familiar.
In the blink of an eye, the scenery would change, and his consciousness would find itself in the snowy mountains.
In that fleeting moment, as his eyelids fluttered shut, Dalen reflected on the owner of the body he was retrieving.
‘The Righteous Saint, Dallos.’
A paladin who never strayed from the path of righteousness, no matter the circumstances.
A character created with the pure intent of punishing evil and performing good deeds.
He was modeled after Lucia Castachald, the hero and demon slayer who appeared in the latter half of the game.
Though Dalen never completed the game with him, the character’s original purpose was successfully fulfilled.
‘He was known as the Demon Butcher until his death.’
Within the order, he was considered on par with Lucia, and as the apocalypse loomed, he was even compared to the order’s leader.
The scene where he sacrificed himself to resurrect his fellow knights was so divine that it resonated even through the monitor.
‘But playing him was the hardest of any run. I decided never to play with a similar concept again.’
The fundamental goal of the game was singular: to prevent the apocalypse and obtain the Stone of Wishes, reaching the end.
Thus, the heroes of other runs were quite different from Saint Dallos. They would stop at nothing to achieve their goals, even if it meant abandoning comrades and friends to prevent the end.
Though not as extreme as Dalen’s final run, after about a hundred playthroughs, there was little reason to deeply engage with NPCs.
’…Because I couldn’t see them as living people.’
Characters beyond the monitor were merely tools to achieve his goals.
Most of them lived as mercenaries, recluses, or wanderers without companions, for the same reason.
The God of War never answered whether the lives of those heroes came first or if it was Dalen’s mouse clicks.
Yet, the sense of responsibility buried in his heart never fully disappeared.
“Haah.”
With a soft sigh, the oppressive feeling dissipated, and the scenery before him completely changed.
Whoosh…
A biting wind brushed past his ears.
Crunch.
Snow piled up to his ankles.
A table covered in snow and the old hunter’s tools. Icicles glistened under the eaves of the roof.
It was a landscape of the snowy mountains he had grown all too familiar with. In the frigid air, Dalen suddenly felt a warmth.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of footsteps in the snow came from behind. Dalen turned his head.
“Ah, has it already come to this?”
A blond man descended the mountain path. Clad in a worn robe, he carried a load of thick branches on his back.
“The gods never told me when this time would come. It felt like an eternity, but looking back, it wasn’t so long.”
“And you are…?”
“Dallos. A humble servant who once served in the Order of the Holy Knights.”
The man smiled slightly, leaning his load against the table. As he did, the wide robe fluttered, revealing his bare skin.
Holy tattoos faintly etched on his neck, collarbone, hands, and face.
The paladin, covered almost entirely in holy tattoos, dusted off his hands and sat down on a chair beside his load.
“Come to think of it, you probably already know who I am.”
“Indeed.”
“I can also guess why you’ve come here.”
The paladin brushed his long blond hair back over his shoulder. His gentle smile and courteous, amiable tone.
His handsome face aside, it was an atmosphere unlike the character Dalen had nurtured. Dalen watched him quietly before speaking.
“You seem remarkably at peace.”
“Compared to other heroes, you mean?”
The paladin chuckled.
“If you truly believe in the divine, peace follows naturally. Once you fix your gaze on the Creator of Heaven and Earth, worldly attachments fade, and values are redefined.”
“That sounds like something a cult leader would say to get you to hand over your money.”
“I’m not saying that survival isn’t important. Can’t you tell just by looking at me? I just hauled a load of wood to cook a meal.”
Dalen glanced aside. Smoke was rising from the chimney of the cabin.
Indeed, none of the transcendents he’d met so far had bothered with meals. After all, what meaning does eating have after death?
“Food is a joy. Unless it’s a necessary fast, there’s no reason to forgo one of life’s pleasures.”
“That’s true.”
“I knew it from the first time I saw you. We would get along.”
“Now that sounds like something a cultist would say.”
The paladin’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. It was a reaction that was easy to tease.
”…”
In the brief silence, a breeze from the mountain peak swept past them.
It was a warm spring breeze.
The sharp, icy wind of the snowy mountains softened as it passed by the paladin.
After a moment of contemplation, the paladin settled into his creaking chair and spoke.
“I believed.”
The faint smile characteristic of paladins. A look Dalen had seen before on Lucia and the order’s leader.
“My faith is solely in the divine. But because of that, I also believed in you. The gods chose you, and I trusted that choice, believing in your character and abilities.”
”…”
“You know my beginning and end, so your visit means there are lives you wish to save. I’m glad. It means you’ve found a place in this continent to call home.”
Creak.
The paladin stood. His eyes shone.
The holy tattoos etched on his corneas activated. Soon, his forehead, cheeks, neck, and collarbone began to glow.
A brilliant light emanated from the intricate lines and symbols covering his body.
Each tattoo held its own meaning, yet they harmonized into a single, radiant whole.
The paladin, now glowing from head to toe, spoke.
“You must go. If the situation is as dire as it seems, we have no time for further conversation.”
Light engulfed the backyard of the cabin. The view blurred as if staring directly into a bright bulb.
[Please, save the lives of this continent that I could not, even at the cost of my own life.]
As the voice resonated like a prayer, Dalen instinctively closed and opened his eyes.
The light that had filled his vision vanished as if it had never been.
Instead of the snowy mountains and the cabin’s backyard, he saw the fallen streets of the Platinum District and the massive corpse of a predator.
The flickering notification windows partially obscured the scene. Dalen took a deep breath.
[You have retrieved the body of the Warrior of the Southwest Continent. You will inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Strength +1]
[You have retrieved the body of a Mage from the Great War. You will inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Intelligence +1, Magic +1]
[You have retrieved the body of a Mage from the Great War. You will inherit…]
[You have retrieved the body of the Righteous Saint. You will inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Strength +2, Dexterity +2, Stamina +2, Perception +2, Intelligence +2, Magic +2, Holy Scripture of the Order (A), Divine Punishment (Unique), Mass Resurrection (Unique)]
The breath he drew in filled his lungs with vitality, spreading throughout his body.
An extreme euphoria that couldn’t be achieved by mere stat increases.
A clear energy coursed through his veins, awakening his nerves and spreading a gentle vitality across his skin.
Dalen slowly steadied his breathing and raised his hand. The intricate lines and symbols etched across his hand glowed faintly.
‘Holy Scripture’
A skill obtained only once in hundreds of playthroughs.
The pinnacle of the holy tattoos that symbolized the Order of the Holy Knights.
In a game where acquiring skills was no easy feat, obtaining a high-grade skill required both luck and skill.
The Holy Scripture, the highest skill obtainable from the Order, was no exception.
‘To acquire it, one must engrave all existing holy tattoos on a single body, restoring and imprinting even the lost ones.’
Considering that the number of holy tattoos represented a paladin’s authority and ability, the rumor that Dallos surpassed the order’s leader, Edgar Reinhardt, was no exaggeration.
Yet even that immense power paled in comparison to the unique skill that followed, Mass Resurrection.
[…Dalen. I think I might have misunderstood your intentions. What you’re about to do… the price you have to pay seems unimaginable.]
Perhaps his thoughts had reached the surface of his consciousness. At the concerned inquiry from his companion, Dalen chuckled.
[We are about to face Enaxagus. We must conserve our strength as much as possible.]
It’s not wrong.
The price demanded by Mass Resurrection is the complete depletion of divine power.
Considering that I acquired this skill at the very end of a timeline where I had reached the limits of my potential as a paladin, it’s no exaggeration to say it was an act that essentially wasted my entire life.
In reality, Dallos, who had lost all miracles and the skills of the Paladin Order, including the fully mastered A-rank skill, Divine Expertise, became nothing more than a snack for Cheongrin.
“Enough. Stop with the nonsense.”
[What do you mean by that…?]
“What meaning is there in a victory gained by losing everything?”
The lightning mage who turned his back on his fellow wizards.
The blacksmith who abandoned his lifelong friend to live in seclusion.
The dark sorcerer who sacrificed his very humanity, and the war god who, despite ascending to divinity, lost his freedom.
Transcendents who, in their desperate pursuit of victory, let go of precious bonds with their own hands, trampling on the ordinary lives of themselves and others.
Yet, what these heroes, each with their own noble cause, saw in the end was themselves transformed into monsters, having lost everything.
“I don’t know if I was the cause of that tragedy or merely a spectator. But I made a promise.”
At least in this timeline, I vowed not to lose the people I hold dear.
It was a promise to the heroes who flashed across the monitor, and a vow to myself, who had already lost precious things once before.
[Do as you wish. No matter what, I am your spear.]
”…Dallon.”
A weak voice tickled his ear. It was Lucia.
She was kneeling in front of a statue, one that closely resembled the one-eyed, one-armed paladin who had led Dallon to this place.
“Parn is late.”
”…”
“Master Elgaia’s final spell was powerful, but it demanded a heavy price. The state of the timeline being pushed forward… it was never meant to last more than a few hours.”
A brief explanation of the situation. It wasn’t hard to understand.
Interfering directly with the future was an impossible miracle from the start.
Even if a grand mage sacrificed their life, the limitations would remain.
“After the spell’s magic was exhausted, he paid the price himself to fix the timeline.”
”…Yes. A fitting end for a paladin.”
He had burned even his life force to hold on.
All to bring Dallon here.
The price was a death where he couldn’t return to the original timeline, his very existence frozen in place.
Recalling the avatar of the pantheon that perished at the hands of Aliat long ago, the agony of death caused by the dissonance of timelines was unimaginable.
“Don’t worry.”
”…What?”
And so, it didn’t matter.
Even if reversing a certain death demanded an unimaginable price, it was something he could accept.
It was an uncharted miracle that neither the dark sorcerer who killed a god nor the war god who touched divinity could reach.
Gently placing his hand on Lucia’s head, Dallon took another deep breath.
“At least, it’s not time to say goodbye yet.”
The divine tattoos etched all over his body began to glow brilliantly.