Paladin of the Dead God

“So, what’s next?”

“What else?”

Isaac lifted Horace’s skull. Immediately, the entire Orca Fleet turned north, setting course toward the waiting Issacrea Fleet.

“We bring our allies and, this time, reclaim the Holy Land.”

***

A father is the first wall a son must face, his earliest rival. A son grows by learning disappointment and authority from his father, and when he finally surpasses his father, he is prepared to become one himself.

But within the cycle of rebirths dictated by the Olkan Code, this becomes complicated.

For most orcs, the lineage of one’s father is uncertain, so their clan societies are matrilineal. Yet things differ for the most honorable raiders in the Khan’s army. The Khan is both a father and a symbol of authority, and through him, orcs learn what a father should be. However, the rare exception existed in Atlan, a keshik of the Olkan Code, who knew precisely who his father was.

His father was none other than the current Khan, Sahulan Khan.

[Atlan, look ahead.]

Atlan lifted his gaze and focused on his father, Sahulan Khan, standing on the opposite side of the plain. Since the recent defeat at Issacrea, Sahulan had visibly withered. His appearances on the battlefield had grown rare, and the pace of the Great Raid had slowed to a crawl.

Whether it was the shock of his defeat or the loss of his beloved steed that had weakened him, none could tell. But the orcs had begun whispering.

They said Sahulan Khan could no longer wield the Netherworld Bow.

[No one knows what the Netherworld itself thinks, for choosing the Khan is its sole authority. But it is true that no one has seen Sahulan Khan draw the Netherworld Bow since his defeat by Issacrea’s lord. Do you understand what that means?]

“Yes.”

[Then go and kill Sahulan Khan. If he cannot wield the Netherworld Bow, the next Khan will be you.]

With the calm authority of a Manseungja, she commanded Atlan to kill the supreme leader of the Olkan Code.

The words were hardly shocking. The Olkan Code had always changed Khans this way. When Khans could no longer wield the Netherworld Bow, most voluntarily stepped down by taking their own lives. However, not all could bring themselves to do so.

It was likely that Sahulan would be one of the latter.

“What if he can still shoot the Netherworld Bow?”

A question with an obvious answer, yet Atlan wanted to hear it from the Manseungja’s own mouth.

[Then you must die. But die facing forward, for that is the only choice left for you, a keshik who defied the Khan’s commands.]

Most orcs knew that Atlan had taken a divergent path from Sahulan. The only reason he had not been assassinated or executed was because of the Manseungja’s protection.

Atlan sighed and scraped the ground with his hoof.

The earth was soft and uneven—poor footing for a charge. If Sahulan drew the Netherworld Bow, he could likely shoot twice at this distance. Atlan knew he couldn’t evade two arrows and still close in for the kill.

All he could do was hope that the bow would not be drawn.

[Go.]

Atlan’s massive body launched forward. His speed rivaled that of a flying arrow.

Sahulan deftly raised the Netherworld Bow. Despite his aged and wrinkled arm, his muscles swelled with strength unbefitting his years. The bowstring tightened under the iron-tipped arrow. Atlan clenched his jaw.

The distance closed by half. Close enough that Sahulan would likely only need one shot. Yet he held back, whether waiting for a perfect chance or desiring closer proximity.

Atlan charged head-on, eyes fixed on the arrow aimed at him.

They were close enough to see each other’s expressions.

Close enough to see each other’s eyes.

Just when Atlan reached the range where the slightest release of the bowstring would skewer him—

Atlan’s curved blade slashed through Sahulan’s shoulder, down to his sternum.

“……!”

Sahulan let out a brief gasp and collapsed. The taut bowstring slipped from his fingers, yet the arrow did not fly, nor did it even budge. Numerous eyes watched, yet none dared voice shock or anger.

“…Olkan, I return to the yellow plains you have prepared after my wandering is done.”

Kneeling, the Khan continued his quiet prayer.

“But a land without my steed can never be a paradise for me…”

With his last words, Sahulan released his final breath, leaving nothing else for Atlan—no advice, no anger.

As Sahulan’s bow touched the ground, it absorbed his final breath, emitting a soft, golden light. Like every Khan before him, Sahulan would not reincarnate but would become one with the Netherworld Bow. Thus, his power and wisdom would aid the next Khan.

Atlan breathed heavily, reflecting on Sahulan’s last words.

‘Were you so unwilling to part from a world without your beloved steed that you clung to life, even knowing you were unfit to be Khan? Did you wish to find a way to that afterlife of other faiths?’

To the Olkan Code, the Netherworld was a realm for plundered faith and wisdom. While some thought of it as a place where one might pillage beside Olkan in glory, few saw it as a spiritual refuge.

To them, true value lay here on this earth.

Thus, Sahulan Khan, now one with the Netherworld Bow, would never be reunited with his beloved steed.

The mare who had been his beloved and Atlan’s mother had likely found her rest in another paradise.

At that moment, someone stepped forward to wipe the blood from Atlan’s body. It was Teherma, the shaman-general who had served Sahulan. Draping a yellow blanket over Atlan’s shoulders, he wrapped a string of prayer beads around his neck and muttered a prayer.

Only then did Atlan look around. All the orcs lay prostrate before him, honoring the birth of a new Khan. Atlan felt a complex surge of emotions. Just then, the Manseungja whispered,

[Raise the Netherworld Bow.]

Atlan complied, lifting the bow high.

[As Khan, make your first decree for the Great Raid. Shoot the bow in the direction you wish to go.]

Although she spoke of a raid, it was clear that she meant for him to decide the nation’s direction.

For nomads, choosing a path was a matter of life and death, a decision that determined the fate of the tribe.

If Atlan fired west, it meant continuing the Great Raid. If he fired east, it signified a return to their ancestral homeland, the Great Plains of Man Sahar. Either path would be difficult.

A figure came to his mind.

Isaac Issacrea, the Holy Grail Knight. The one who had delivered defeat to the Khan’s army.

After a moment’s consideration, Atlan lightly plucked the bowstring.

The immense Netherworld Bow was heavy, impossible to lift even for ordinary Khans. Drawing the bow was another matter entirely. Yet as Atlan held it and drew the bowstring, it bent like a reed. Power pulsed through the empty string.

The orcs’ eyes widened as he raised it.

With a mighty *thrum*, the bowstring released, sending a glowing arc soaring into the sky.

The orcs watched the receding light, glancing around uneasily, worried that their new Khan might lack a sense of direction. But Atlan soon spoke to reassure them.

“We march south.”

South. The land where the Codex of Light and the Immortal Order clashed.

The land of Holy Land Lua.

The new direction of the Olkan Code’s Great Raid had been decided.