Chapter 419: The Immortal Emperor (1)
The arrival of the Lighthouse Keeper sent the heavens into turmoil, the winds howling as if gone mad. The very presence of the entity was enough to halt the fierce battle raging below.
“The Lighthouse Keeper has descended...,” Tuhalin murmured, almost in a groan.
Even he, one of the rare few able to endure the Keeper's overwhelming light, had to shield his face with his hand. Among those who managed to remain standing were individuals like Lianne and Reyna, ones who bore omens within them.
With gazes steeped in fear and reverence, they fixed their eyes upon the Lighthouse Keeper.
Leonora was no exception. Isaac noted that she was the only one among the Golden Idol Guild who stood firm, meeting the Keeper's light head-on. Her golden eyes reflected and refracted the searing brightness of the entity.
Once the Lighthouse Keeper had fully manifested, it appeared to restrain the searing heat and brilliance emanating from its form, as if attempting to temper its own strength.
Yet, even so, its authority was undeniable.
No Archangel could hope to compare to the Lighthouse Keeper.
The Keeper's gaze settled on the Holy Land of Lua. Its presence seemed to demand action, as if urging the land to reveal its might.
But even as the Keeper descended, the Immortal Emperor remained unseen, quietly spreading the shadows that enveloped the Holy Land of Lua. The shadows grew deeper and more vast, as if the Keeper’s intense light only served to intensify the darkness.
Thump.
Isaac’s heart suddenly pounded hard in his chest. An overwhelming sense of wrongness gripped him.
His instincts flared, and he raised his gaze skyward. Despite the rising sun and the light of the Lighthouse Keeper, the sky was a thick, inky black, like spilled ink spreading uncontrollably.
The intensity of the Lighthouse Keeper’s brilliance had delayed his realization.
[Isaac.]
The Immortal Emperor’s voice echoed in Isaac’s mind without warning. He turned his head towards the Holy Land of Lua, his eyes drawn to the dome’s ceiling.
There stood a man—a priest and an emperor who had forsaken life long ago, yet never rested, continuing his wandering.
“The Immortal Emperor...”
“The Immortal Emperor? Where? Has he appeared on the battlefield?” Tuhalin demanded, his voice frantic, but it seemed he couldn’t see the figure. Yet Isaac, even without activating the Eyes of Chaos, could clearly see the Immortal Emperor as if the latter willed his form to be seen.
Compared to the magnificent radiance of the towering Lighthouse Keeper, the tattered figure wrapped in rags appeared small and pitiful.
And yet, the emperor stood tall atop the dome, his gaze locked with the Archangel he had once served.
[Watch closely. Witness how far a mortal can go to defy the natural order.]
Isaac couldn’t comprehend why the Immortal Emperor spoke these words to him, but there was no further explanation. Instead, the emperor slowly removed his hood.
Beneath it was nothing but pure darkness. No features, no form—only tendrils of black smoke coiling and dissipating into the air. When the wind caught his turban, it too vanished into the void, scattering into the darkness.
Piece by piece, the emperor discarded his tattered garments, letting them be carried away by the wind.
Click.
In that moment, two of the six lighthouses orbiting the Keeper flared. Their beams of pure radiance surged forth, instantly incinerating the emperor. But when the light faded, nothing remained—not even ash.
All that lingered was the thick black ash blanketing the Holy Land of Lua.
The black ash, seemingly blown by the wind, climbed the fiery pillar conjured by the Burning Maiden, spiraling skyward and scattering across the heavens.
From the ground to the sky, a thin, black scar, like a blade slicing through the horizon, stretched endlessly.
[The dead cannot die again.]
Those who had been gazing at the sky saw it then: the heavens themselves parting, the clouds splitting as though a massive hole had been carved into the sky.
Night returned—darkness, ominous and unrelenting, stood shoulder to shoulder with the end of days.
[This land belongs to the dead.]
Crrrk. Crrrrk. CRRRAAAAK!
A grotesque cacophony resounded as the sky trembled. The sound was alien, like heaven itself ripping apart, spilling its entrails and blood.
And then, from the gaping wound in the heavens, an unrelenting tide of ghosts and spirits poured forth.
Screams. Wails. Whimpers. Shrill cries. Agonized sobs.
Countless spirits, souls unable to ascend to heaven or descend to hell, cascaded like a torrential downpour. These were the dead, trapped within the Immortal Emperor’s domain, now unleashed.
The Lighthouse Keeper immediately activated its lighthouses, scorching the spirits in droves. But it was like trying to fend off a rainstorm with a single blade—impossible to contain.
More importantly, this was divine power.
A god dictates the rules of existence itself. When the Immortal Emperor declared this land to be the domain of the dead, the Lighthouse Keeper, no matter how powerful, could not overturn that decree.
“AAAAHHH!”
Orcs and soldiers below were instantly exposed to the unrelenting assault of spirits. These entities, reliving the agony of their deaths, attempted to possess the living. For most, the mere encounter brought unimaginable psychological torment.
The Dawn Army, already suffering a shortage of priests capable of banishing the spirits, fell into chaos.
Simultaneously, the spirits took over the corpses strewn across the battlefield.
Their purpose was singular: to create more corpses.
Living flesh. Warm bodies.
Like farmers tilling the soil to plant more seeds, the spirits sought to expand their harvest of death.
An inferno of chaos unlike anything seen before ignited.
Some corpses bore multiple spirits, twisting into grotesque forms, while others crawled on shattered limbs. Still others swelled unnaturally as dozens of spirits battled for control within a single body.
There was no peace for anyone on this land of the dead.
This was a graveyard, not a sanctuary.
And in this cursed place, none would find solace.
***
“No... already?”
From the moment the Immortal Emperor cast off his hood, Isaac realized what was about to happen.
In the Dawn Army’s conquest of the Holy Land of Lua, after defeating even Kalsen, this event marked the final phase the Immortal Emperor would reveal. And now, he had unleashed it from the start.
Isaac's face twisted as he urgently issued orders to his commanders.
“Use every exorcism miracle you have! Immediately!”
“What? Oh... understood!”
Every faith had prayers and miracles designed to ward off evil spirits. Even the Immortal Order was no exception, as spirits held no loyalty to the order. They simply coveted flesh and sought to claim it.
The repercussions of the underworld being torn open by the Immortal Emperor reached as far as the Dawn Army stationed at Issacrea.
Thanks to Isaac’s foresight, they avoided being swept away by the tide of spirits. Still, the sight of shrieking spirits flying overhead drove weaker-willed soldiers into psychological agony.
“Get lost, you wretched spirits!”
Tuhalin slammed his hammer into the ground, sending a deafening thunderclap rippling through the earth. The spirits scattered in terror, retreating momentarily but lingering at a distance. It was only a matter of time before they returned.
Tuhalin muttered curses under his breath as he turned his gaze toward the Holy Land of Lua.
The torrent of spirits pouring down was like a blizzard, engulfing the battlefield. And within that storm, a colossal shadow loomed, enshrouding the entirety of the Holy Land. Even the Lighthouse Keeper’s light seemed feeble, like a solitary beacon in the face of an overwhelming tempest.
“What in the world is happening?”
“It’s a repetition of what occurred when the Immortal Order was first born,” Isaac replied.
“This happened before?”
Isaac nodded.
Long ago, a similar event had unfolded in the Holy Land of Lua—the day Bishop Beshek became the Immortal Emperor.
Through a ritual, he had torn the belly of the heavens, spilling celestial blood to drench the earth. He had succeeded in drawing a fragment of heaven down to cover the land, but he could not contain every soul of the dead.
The Immortal Emperor wished for the dead to walk and live as the living did. To maintain that deception, he had once sewn the tear in the heavens shut, banishing the souls unable to inhabit a body. Only those deemed worthy of resurrection were allowed to remain.
But now, the Immortal Emperor had ripped open the celestial veil once more.
While the first time required elaborate rituals and tools, reopening a previously torn sky needed only the Immortal Emperor’s power.
Now, the dead roamed freely, claiming bodies at will, without the oversight of the Lord of the Graveyard, the guidance of Pallor, or the discipline of Dead December.
An unbridled anarchy had been unleashed—a world where the boundary between the living and the dead ceased to exist.
The Immortal Emperor had removed all restrictions.
“Damn it! If the situation’s this dire, there’s nothing we can do, is there?” Tuhalin exclaimed.
“No, this state won’t last. Even the Immortal Emperor can’t sustain such chaos indefinitely. In this frenzy, he won’t be able to draw faith from anyone,” Isaac explained.
The Immortal Emperor valued “free will” not only because of personal beliefs but because enslaved minds could not provide genuine faith. If he could compel worship through mind control, he would have long since become the strongest deity. But such a thing was impossible.
“This chaos is akin to the Immortal Emperor devouring his own flesh. If it continues, even his divinity will falter. He’s likely doing this to drive the Lighthouse Keeper away, but...”
“Then how long do we need to hold out? An hour? Half a day?”
Isaac grimaced, holding up three fingers.
“Three days? That’s madness! That long and...”
“It could last as long as 30 years,” Isaac said bluntly. “The undead supporting him in the Holy Land of Lua are firmly entrenched. They won’t die, even in isolation.”
Isaac wasn’t merely guessing—he’d seen it firsthand in the game.
While the state of chaos could theoretically persist throughout the campaign, mending the sundered heavens wasn’t an easy feat. Moreover, the average "quality" of the undead would decline significantly, making this only a last resort.
Isaac turned his gaze to the Lighthouse Keeper.
Despite the chaos, the Lighthouse Keeper stood firm, unwavering against the Immortal Emperor’s power. Though a storm raged, the lighthouse did not fall. It simply remained steadfast, shining its light to guide others to safety.
To Isaac, the Keeper’s stance delivered a clear message.
“If I fall here, the Immortal Emperor will turn the entire world into this nightmare. Are you going to allow that?”
It was precisely to prevent such a scenario that Isaac had come.
There would be no next Dawn Army. The Immortal Emperor would ally with time itself to dominate the world.
Isaac bit his lip. This was blackmail, with the world itself held hostage. Yet, at the same time...
“It’s also the perfect opportunity.”
***
Oblivious to Isaac’s thoughts, Tuhalin surveyed the battlefield with a grim expression.
“I thought it was bad before, but this is a whole new level of nightmare. I don’t think there’s anything left for us to do here...”
One god, and at least four angels, were already present.
Counting the indirectly involved angels, their numbers were incalculable. If the Issacrea Dawn Army intervened, angels supporting the heroes would undoubtedly join the fray.
“This isn’t a battlefield for humans,” Tuhalin muttered. “It’s a battlefield for gods.”
In such a battle, what role could humans play?
The answer was simple—to serve as straws through which gods drew faith.
When divine and angelic titans clashed, humanity’s role was to be trampled underfoot like ants.
Isaac found such a fate unacceptable.
“Throwing ourselves into that chaos would be suicide,” Isaac said, addressing the commanders.
“But we didn’t come here to merely spectate. Tuhalin, take command of the troops. If left unchecked, Olkan Code’s army will obliterate the Dawn Army. Keep their forces occupied.”
“What? The Dawn Army hasn’t even properly supported you...”
“What does it matter? Most of their soldiers are ordinary men. There’s no need for them to die senselessly here.”
Isaac’s altruism wasn’t born out of kindness. He understood how Urvansus operated and the source of angels’ power.
If the Dawn Army’s soldiers were annihilated, their corpses would become part of the Immortal Order’s forces. That outcome was far worse for Isaac.
“For some reason, the Dawn Army soldiers aren’t receiving proper leadership right now. The angels won’t bother managing them directly, so take charge and rally them.”
Tuhalin nodded, grasping Isaac’s point.
As Isaac had said, the Dawn Army was in utter disarray, being slaughtered by the Orc cavalry and the spirits. The Issacrea forces had to take the lead.