[“If only you hadn’t forced him to swear, things wouldn’t have come to this. You followers of the Codex of Light treat oaths too lightly, demanding the price from others with cruelty.”]
The Dead December shouted these reproachful words, a lament in his voice.
[“Behold, the symbol of cowardice!”]
With a subtle flick of his fingers, the illusion of Dead December brought forth a wave of darkness that flowed like a billowing sleeve before dispersing like a mirage.
From within the darkness, a single undead figure dropped to the ground.
Once, this figure might have held an esteemed status, clad in a once-fine armor and a flowing cape. Now, however, it was merely a decrepit skeleton, covered in barnacles and corroded by seawater.
[“This is Arachel Brant, who was forced to swear loyalty to Horace.”]
Arachel Brant, bound in heavy chains, clattered like a wooden puppet with every movement of Dead December’s fingers. Dead December, lacking any finesse in manipulating puppets, rendered the scene grotesque and absurd.
[“Like Delrod Ciel, he hangs by the ship’s edge, facing punishment befitting a deserter. What’s fascinating is that all those who stepped onto Miarma ultimately agreed to surrender their souls. They realized the Codex of Light would not protect them.”]
Dead December’s tone was both merciless and gentle.
Though abandoned by the Codex of Light, these souls were tended to, albeit after death, by Dead December. Perhaps some of them had hoped to conclude their service with the Dawn Army in heavenly glory, but could deserters who turned their backs under the fierce desert sun ever expect such grace?
Looking at Arachel now, it was evident that the place the Dawn Army had chosen was not heaven, but home.
[“I intend to grant the wishes of those who surrendered their souls—after they’ve served their penance, of course.”]
Dead December leaned forward as he spoke.
Isaac knew the figure before him was only an illusion, yet he felt an intense sense that Dead December himself was watching him from a great distance.
[“You’ll fall into despair when you reach Miarma, regardless. So turn back now, child. Don’t create more souls like Horace’s.”]
A potent wave of resistance bore down on Isaac, pressing him with such force that he nearly stumbled back. Blood vessels burst one by one in his eyes, staining the whites a fierce red, yet he forced himself to stand firm.
Isaac slowly opened his mouth to speak.
“I will reclaim the Holy Land.”
***
Isaac delved into Horace’s consciousness through the Eye of Chaos.
Isaac didn’t need to probe deeply into Horace’s consciousness; he was only searching for the link between Dead December and Horace. At last, he spotted a tangled thread-like trace connecting them.
Just as Dead December controlled Arachel Brant’s corpse like a marionette with chains, his influence extended over Horace as well. However, because Horace was already under powerful motivation, Dead December hadn’t needed to exert full control over him.
‘The Immortal Order grants a measure of control from higher undead to lower ones, regardless of influence.’
Many aspiring undead failed to realize that being granted the status of a “follower” did not mean complete autonomy. All souls in the Immortal Order were bound under the sway of the Immortal Emperor Beshek. Angels held authority below him, followed by bishops and priests in a hierarchical pyramid of control.
In its absolute control over souls, the Immortal Order was more rigidly hierarchical than any other faith.
Yet, in most cases, the Immortal Emperor forbade the exercise of “strong” influence on souls. Therefore, the undead generally lived independently, pursuing their own lives in individualistic ways.
However, some level of influence remained in effect as needed.
A life devoid of desire and purpose would inevitably degrade.
In Horace’s case, it seemed Dead December had suggested he roam the stormy sea, “recruiting” any trespassers as a sort of pastime.
Focusing his obsession on the past oaths and grudges he’d let slip away.
Isaac believed it was this very obsession that had driven Horace mad.
“I swear.”
Isaac took another step forward.
To break that unseen chain wrapped around Horace’s neck.
“I will reclaim the Holy Land.”