Frodo had once been a young man of great ambition.
Coming from a family of deep heritage, his father Lorencos was a legendary paladin, and being an only son, Frodo had been meticulously cultivated by this legendary powerhouse since childhood.
Frodo was not lacking in talent and was diligent enough, making him an outstanding figure among his peers.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have been qualified to stand guard at the gate for the Iron-Blood General.
This was the role of a personal bodyguard, a position his father Lorencos had once held. It demonstrated how highly the Iron-Blood General valued him, practically an open declaration that he would succeed to his father's post in the future. Even if he failed to reach the legendary rank, he would still be heavily relied upon.
Until the day Anbaixiu arrived at Liuyan City, Frodo had been a young man brimming with aspiration.
Until the sudden appearance of the undead curse.
Frodo felt his body turning into an undead bit by bit.
It was not terribly painful—nowhere near the agony of injuries sustained during daily training—yet it brought him a hundred times more dread.
Frodo did not fear death; he feared plunging into Hell after dying.
This was a terror no believer in the gods could escape.
Only the truly devout could receive a deity's special grace and enter the divine realm after death. Otherwise, one would descend into Hell.
Fortunately, the Lord of the Dawn was a generous deity. For the vast majority of paladins, as long as they did not break their oaths, entering the divine realm was not difficult.
This was not mere wishful thinking; clerics of light could summon heroic spirits from the divine realm to assist in battle, and they had found that many paladins who had never reached legendary status were summoned. This proved the standard for entering the divine realm was not particularly high.
Frodo had originally believed he was certain to enter the divine realm. After all, he was a paladin who upheld his oath. Not only that, he had achieved many merits for Ryan.
He had followed the Iron-Blood General on campaigns far and wide. He had fought the Iron Guards of the dwarves, clashed with orc legions, slaughtered countless evil monsters like goblins and gnolls, and even boasted the feat of slaying an adult ogre single-handedly.
Having done so many good deeds, Frodo genuinely believed he was destined for the divine realm.
Therefore, he had never feared death, displaying boundless bravery in every battle.
Until he turned into an undead.
The curse was far too vile. It could actually turn a paladin into an undead, completely without resistance.
And the undead were bound for Hell!
Before being sent to the imperial capital to see the emperor, Frodo had already fully transformed into an undead.
He could feel that his body was nothing more than a mass of dead flesh and blood, his soul corroded by dark power. He had even been unable to suppress a ravenous hunger toward the comrades escorting him, longing to bite through their necks and voraciously devour their blood.
Frodo had resisted the urge with all his might, and in the end, under the power of the Dragon Tyrant Armament, time was reversed, turning him back into a human.
Yet Frodo deeply remembered the sensation of turning into an undead. At the moment he had fully died, he had seen no welcoming Holy Light from the divine realm.
At first, Frodo thought his transformation into an undead had prevented his ascent to the divine realm of the Lord of the Dawn. Now that he had recovered, everything should return to normal, and he would still be able to go to the divine realm.
However, self-consolation seemed meaningless. No matter how he tried to convince himself, the dread of death continued to haunt his mind.
And because of this dread, he discovered that his power was beginning to wane.
A paladin's power stemmed from conviction. Once fear and unease took root, the power of the Holy Light vanished along with it.
Just as he was on the verge of breaking his oath, Frodo encountered a youth even younger than himself. But the moment he laid eyes on him, Frodo nearly drew his sword to strike.
Because this youth was Alan Watson—the man rumored to have betrayed the Ryan Empire.
Frodo knew he ought to attack and shout for help. Even though it was late at night, and he had come out alone to the woods outside the city to chop down trees to vent his frustration.
As long as he could ignite the Holy Light, such a warning would surely alert the Ryan troops within the city, bringing immediate rescue.
Yet, despite his efforts, he found that he couldn't channel the power of the Holy Light at all.
Frodo panicked. It seemed he could not escape death.
Alan Watson was the empire's youngest legend. Whether he was a traitor or not, it didn't change the fact that he could obliterate Frodo with a casual wave of his hand.
Frodo's legs went so weak with terror that he didn't even have the strength to run.
Just when Frodo thought his end had come, the traitor didn't draw a sword against him. Instead, he helped him up and used the Holy Light to dispel his fear.
It was the power of the Aura of Courage. Frodo knew it well; whenever he entered battle, he loved activating this aura before leading the charge alongside his comrades.
He had never imagined a day would come when an Aura of Courage would be used to dispel his own fear.
Alan's Holy Light felt like the dawn sun, filling Frodo with warmth and ease. Could someone possessing such power truly have betrayed the empire?
Alan said courteously to Frodo, "Pardon me. I didn't mean to eavesdrop; it's just that your condition seemed a bit off."
Frodo felt a pang of shame. He had been scared nearly out of his wits just moments ago, utterly disgracing the name of a paladin.
Embarrassed, Frodo stammered, "I was just... uh... passing by..."
Alan chuckled. "Heh, looks like your oath doesn't demand honesty."
"Enough, Alan Watson! What do you really want?! What plot brings you sneaking into Liuyan City?!"
Though Frodo tried hard to sound tough, anyone could hear the bluster concealing his inner dread.
Alan hid nothing, getting straight to the point. "I'm looking for like-minded people. You're Frodo Orse, right? I seem to remember you. You took your oath in the imperial capital's temple earlier than I did."
Taking an oath in the imperial capital was a privilege reserved for Ryan's second-generation elite. To swear vows in the Temple of the Lord of the Dawn in the capital required a distinguished family background. Though it was a form of shared bond, Frodo found no joy in it. Even among those who took their vows in the capital, there were differences.
Alan's father was the Supreme Arbiter, so Alan must have sworn his oath in the main hall before the grand statue of the Lord of the Dawn. Frodo, on the other hand, had only been allowed in a smaller prayer chamber, swearing before a scaled-down statue of the deity.
On the surface, the explanation was that there were too many paladins taking vows to fit into a single hall, but in truth, it was a matter of hierarchy—something Frodo knew full well.
For Alan to bring it up now only struck Frodo as flaunting.
However, Alan did not pursue the topic, seemingly just looking for common ground. He followed up immediately, "Frodo, what do you think of Ryan today?"
Frodo froze. He had never expected Alan to ask such a question. Even if Alan was a traitor, wasn't this a bit too direct?
Without hesitation, Frodo declared his complete satisfaction with the Ryan Empire, heaping endless praise upon the empire and the Lord of the Dawn.
Alan did not argue. He simply watched Frodo quietly until Frodo awkwardly fell silent.
"Frodo, why stop? Aren't there many more hymns of praise from the Dawn Grand Ceremony?"
Frodo fell silent. He didn't know why either; usually, he could recite those praises all day, but today the words died in his throat. In the end, all he could force out was, "You know them too, so I won't bother reciting them."
What followed became a bit of a blur to Frodo.
He vaguely recalled sitting in the woods with Alan throughout the night. Alan caught two rabbits, and the two roasted them over an open fire.
Frodo couldn't remember what the roasted rabbit tasted like. He only remembered the first ray of morning sunlight piercing through the treetops, falling over Alan. Clothed in the dawn, Alan radiated a divine aura, and Frodo's heart, which had been frantic all night, suddenly settled into peace.
Then, he couldn't help but ask Alan, "Do you think... when we die, can we enter the divine realm?"
Alan shook his head. "I don't know, but my guess is most likely not."
Frodo grew agitated. "Why?! I've accomplished so much for Ryan, done so many things! Why wouldn't I be able to enter the divine realm? I've practiced my oath without slacking once! Why would I be destined for Hell?!"
Alan sighed and told Frodo, "Frodo, it's not just you. I will go to Hell too, because I haven't been able to make amends for the sins I've committed."
"You're a traitor! Of course you're going to Hell! Why should I be lumped together with you?!" Frodo gripped his sword hilt so hard his knuckles whitened, nearly drawing his blade against Alan.
Alan paid his hostility no mind, replying calmly, "Have you ever thought about whether the wars you and I fought in were unjust? The Lord of the Dawn only asked us to preserve hope; when did He ever tell us to bring despair to others? I fought in the Orc Mountains. I watched with my own eyes as those orcs were slaughtered. They had parents, wives, children, and friends. What was our reason for massacring them?"
Frodo blurted out, "It was righteous retribution! The Orc Kingdom has a blood feud with us!"
"A blood feud? Then who started that feud in the first place? Do you know when Ryan first made enemies with the orcs, or why? Even if that's a tangled mess best left aside, does war spare even young children?
"Frodo, following that Iron-Blood General, you've slaughtered many people, haven't you? I've heard of your legion's deeds. When you conquer the cities of the Dwarf Kingdom, only infants who cannot yet speak are left alive. Has the sword in your hand ever cut down helpless women and children?"
"I haven't! Those were all..."
Frodo wanted to explain that his role was only to charge the front lines, and that the massacres following a city's fall were assigned to the ordinary soldiers below; the Iron-Blood General's personal guards didn't need to dirty their hands with such labor.
Yet he was a paladin after all. Such self-deceiving excuses caught in his throat.
In war, Frodo and the rest were a single whole. Whoever killed the elderly, the weak, women, and children stained Frodo's sword with foul blood just the same.
In the past, Frodo would have scoffed at Alan's words. When had the Ryan Empire ever been wrong? Every foreign war was righteous.
As a paladin, he had taken immense pride in Ryan and would never permit the slightest blemish upon that glory. If anyone dared say another word, they would be dragged straight to the Tribunal. Massacres? Frodo had had a hundred reasons to convince others and himself—all taught by the general.
But now, no power of the Holy Light flowed through his body.
Frodo was no longer a paladin blessed by the Holy Light; he had been reduced to the most ordinary of men.
Alan, on the other hand, held a Holy Light so abundant within him that one could sense it even with eyes closed.
Even a traitor possessed such power. Could it be that he himself had been the one in the wrong? Had he lost the Holy Light not merely because of his undead transformation, but because his own deeds had betrayed the Holy Light?
Frodo couldn't be blamed for turning around so quickly; the moment he lost his power, his spirit had teetered on the brink of collapse.
However fanatical he had been before, that was how terrified he was now.
He didn't want to go to Hell. What if what Alan said was true? Wouldn't that make him an unforgivable sinner?
Just as Frodo was about to seek Alan's help, his father, Lorencos, appeared. The white-haired paladin uttered not a single word, not even offering comfort to his emotionally shattered son, drawing his longsword directly against Alan.
The clash was far more understated than expected. Both legendary paladins merely coated their blades in a faint shimmer of Holy Light and engaged in a contest of pure martial skill.
Though both possessed the power to summon towering pillars of Holy Light reaching the heavens, both deliberately restrained their strength.
Even so, their duel left Frodo dazzled. Only then did Frodo realize that even if he still retained his power, he wouldn't last two seconds against Alan. The gap between them was truly staggering.
The elder and the youth fought for ten minutes. In the end, Alan's blade rested against Lorencos's neck, while Lorencos's sword stopped half an inch from Alan's chest.
Lorencos dropped his longsword, saying dejectedly, "You won."
Alan showed no hint of arrogance. He picked up Lorencos's sword and returned it to his hands.
"If this were a fight to the death, even if I could slit your throat, you would still have the strength to pierce my heart. Being faster by that slight margin hardly counts as a win or loss."
Lorencos looked upon Alan's youthful face and couldn't help asking, "What did you come here to do?"
Alan said resolutely, "I want to stop this war. When Ryan invaded the Orc Kingdom, I failed to stop it and even became an accomplice. This time, I want to stop Ryan from invading the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn."
Lorencos sneered dismissively, "With just you? You might defeat me, but can you defeat Ryan's army?"
"Alone, of course I cannot. That is why I came to seek allies. Senior, you didn't alert Liuyan City's garrison to capture me—in truth, you want to join me too, don't you? You've been watching us the entire night; you should understand my conviction quite well by now."
"The entire night? Father, you were here all along?" Frodo had never dreamed that his father had been watching from the sidelines the whole time.
Lorencos sighed. "I am your father. How could I not know what you were thinking? A second after you left, I was following you. Frodo, I brought this upon you. The curse on your body was born from the sins I committed—a punishment from the gods upon me."
Frodo's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He never imagined his father would utter such a frightening conclusion.
The undead curse was a punishment?
Alan opened his mouth, feeling somewhat awkward. Though Alan didn't know the full details, he didn't even need to think to know this curse was definitely Anbaixiu's doing. The lich had visited here, and only he had the means to pull off something like this—there was no doubt about it!
Alan wanted to explain, but Lorencos had already begun to repent with deep remorse.
"Frodo, following the general, I committed far too much slaughter. I no longer remember how many people died under my blade, whether they were innocent, whether they were blameless... I've asked myself these questions over and over, yet I clung to wishful thinking, believing that wherever the Holy Light pointed, everything we did was righteous.
"But I was wrong. The curse you suffered was punishment for me, and punishment for you as well. Haven't you noticed? The ones who turned into undead were all those who personally participated in the massacres, while those who didn't were completely unaffected."
Lorencos's words made even Alan shut his mouth. He thought to himself: *Could it really be that coincidental... or did that lich do it on purpose?*
Feeling uncertain, Alan decided not to shift the blame onto Anbaixiu. What if he falsely accused someone?
Besides, this seemed to be a good thing.
Alan looked at the weeping Lorencos, then over at Frodo, thinking to himself: *These allies came together a bit faster than expected.*
Chapter 332