Isaac had always found it strange.
How could an entirely different world, with no contact with Earth, share so many similarities?
Artifacts resembling those of Earth, historical parallels—everything bore the mark of the Lighthouse Keeper’s careful curation.
Isaac stared at the Lighthouse Keeper’s outstretched hand.
The struggle of a single man, fighting to uphold order in this world, was beyond Isaac’s comprehension.
He had never witnessed the Age of the Mother of All Gods.
He couldn’t begin to grasp the trials and tribulations the Lighthouse Keeper had endured.
The Lighthouse Keeper had established an immense bulwark.
Because of him, the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
Even the gods had chosen to live under the rigid order he had created, submitting to it.
Under the unyielding physical laws he had imposed, the world would persist without major upheaval—at least until entropy consumed everything.
But…
"And yet, the result of all that is this grotesque kingdom of spinal cords."
Beyond the Lighthouse Keeper’s hand, Isaac saw the writhing mass of intertwined spinal tendrils.
He understood the man’s noble ideals, his fury, his very soul.
But to be honest, it felt like listening to an old war veteran recount his battles.
Isaac acknowledged the sacrifices and efforts that had built the world as it stood.
Yet, this was no longer the Age of the Mother of All Gods.
Ironically, the one who had now unleashed chaos upon the world was none other than the Lighthouse Keeper himself.
Isaac could not take his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, he let out a deep sigh and tightened his grip on Kaldwin.
The holy sword trembled.
"Lighthouse Keeper, you have fallen."
[...What did you say?]
"You spent a thousand years crafting a magnificent vase, but now you’re setting fire to houses, fields, and mountains to preserve it.
And in the process, the vase itself has been blackened, warped, and cracked beyond recognition."
Isaac didn’t need to point to the devastation surrounding them.
Everywhere, blood-soaked humans lay fused together by writhing tendrils.
Above, the sky was marred with fractures, teeming with grotesque masses of spinal tissue.
"Is this the world you wanted?
Is this your so-called ’consistent’ world?
You’re no different from the gods of the Age of the Mother of All Gods, indulging in their whims. If you thought I would sympathize and stand with you, let me make it clear right now—"
Isaac’s voice was ice-cold.
"I cannot live in a world infested with tendrils.
I never could, and I never will."
It was a declaration with no turning back.
The Codex of Light’s world—his world—was rotten from its very foundation.
Perhaps cutting away the decay wouldn’t save it, but he had to try.
Fortunately, Isaac was good with a blade—even without spinal tendrils.
The Lighthouse Keeper visibly trembled.
His countless wings rippled outward like waves.
His emotions—shock, anger, denial—manifested as tremors that shook the Holy Land Lua.
Isaac met his fury head-on.
If he had not ascended to his current state, the sheer pressure alone would have crushed him instantly.
But now, he stood firm.
[...I see.]
Understanding dawned in the Lighthouse Keeper’s eyes, and his gaze grew cold.
Like molten gold cooling into hardened metal, his once-brilliant golden irises darkened.
Now, he looked at Isaac with an utterly indifferent stare.
[You’re just like the White Owl.]
"The White Owl?"
Isaac frowned.
Why was that name suddenly being brought up?
Was this some kind of insult?
But the Lighthouse Keeper did not answer.
He merely regarded Isaac with the same detached gaze he had for all other humans, angels, and gods.
Like something beneath his concern.
He let out a sigh, almost as if in resignation.
[...I suspected this might happen.
If the White Owl hadn’t interfered, I would have descended the Millennium Kingdom at the moment of the Immortal Emperor’s birth.
But in the end, someone always gets in the way.]
So the White Owl had obstructed the Millennium Kingdom’s descent?
[But I’m not foolish enough to repeat the same mistake.]
"Sword of May, Isaac—do as you wish."
Crack.
A searing heat flared within Isaac’s chest.
Sword of May was burrowing into him.
Isaac barely had time to think how—but then he remembered.
Long ago, before he had fought Calurien, Sword of May had planted the Flame of Glory deep within his body.
Now, that flame surged, and within him, Sword of May ignited.
[I’m sorry, Isaac.]
Blinding white consumed his vision.
The sacred sword had taken control of his body.
His grip on the blade was no longer his own.
In the next instant, he swung—
—and slashed straight through the glass lantern that contained Leonora.
A clean, precise cut.
Even with his blurred vision, Isaac knew exactly what motion he had performed.
It was the Saint Arte’s Vertical Severance—one of the most fundamental techniques drilled into every paladin, refined over tens of thousands of repetitions under Gebel’s tutelage.
With a sharp crack, the lantern split in two.
The moment it fractured, the glass slid apart and shattered into pieces.
Fragments tumbled down the pyramid’s base with a resounding clatter.
Leonora gasped, violently sucking in air, coughing from the sudden influx of oxygen.
[Ah… Sword of May... even you?]
The Lighthouse Keeper murmured in disbelief.
Isaac couldn’t understand what had just happened.
"Did Sword of May just betray the Lighthouse Keeper?"
It seemed like the only explanation.
The sword had deliberately broken the lantern that held Leonora.
But why?
Hadn’t Sword of May been one of the most loyal enforcers of the Millennium Kingdom?
Why turn now?
Had it recoiled upon witnessing the horror of the spinal kingdom?
There was no time for explanations.
Sword of May wasted no time continuing its assault, ensuring the Lighthouse Keeper could not create another lantern.
The angel’s hands were severed, golden fire scattering into the air.
But to Isaac, it was no more than cutting fingernails.
Beams of searing light shot from the lighthouse, barely missing Isaac as he weaved through them.
He realized that Sword of May was guiding him, predicting the beams’ trajectories and dodging them instinctively.
["Leonora!"]
Using Isaac’s mouth, Sword of May shouted.
["Make a wish!
He can no longer kill you.
Wish for him to stop—end this madness now!"]
A world where murder was impossible.
Killing Leonora was meaningless within the Millennium Kingdom.
Even if she was shattered into pieces, the Mother of All Gods would simply restore her.
Leonora, still struggling to breathe, inhaled sharply—then, in a desperate voice, she cried out:
"Let me live in your Millennium Kingdom, Lighthouse Keeper!"
"What?"
Isaac’s mind reeled.
Leonora raised her arms, shouting toward the Lighthouse Keeper.
"I now understand your will.
Gold beneath the sun is merely a cheap imitation of its radiance.
Without the sun’s authority, what meaning does gold have?
Please, let the Golden Idol Guild survive under your reign!"
Even Isaac and Sword of May were at a loss for words.
But the Lighthouse Keeper merely lifted Leonora’s chin with the tip of his finger, as if he were finally deciding to remember her face.
[It seems you’ve had a lot of time to think inside that glass lantern.]
Leonora, her face twisted with pain and fear, cast a sideways glance at Isaac.
Then, she turned away.
Isaac wasn’t surprised.
That was simply who she was.
The Golden Idol Guild had never concerned itself with morality.
It had always pursued its own best interests.
Leonora had already made two wishes—each time, she had suffered a terrible fate.
Rather than risk making a third, it was only natural that she would choose to survive as the second-in-command of the paradise the Lighthouse Keeper had created.
After all, for an organization with no chance of winning, this was the highest position she could hope to attain.
The Lighthouse Keeper smiled at her decision and lifted the remains of her shattered lantern.
As his hand enclosed it, a new glass lantern formed around her—
But this time, it wasn’t an oxygen-deprived prison.
Leonora, now encased once again, seemed able to breathe normally.
Watching this unfold, Sword of May muttered bitterly.
[It seems I was too romantic, Isaac.]
Yet, even now, Isaac still didn’t understand why Sword of May had betrayed the Lighthouse Keeper.
She had already known.
It had known that the Lighthouse Keeper had abandoned the Burning Maiden and chosen it instead.
Which meant it had known everything—the full truth.
That the Mother of All Gods had to descend for heaven to manifest.
That was why the Lighthouse Keeper had protected Sword of May all this time.
[What’s your problem, Sword of May?]
The Lighthouse Keeper asked, his voice calm.
Sword of May remained silent, unwilling to answer—
But the Lighthouse Keeper nonchalantly whispered her secret.
[Didn’t you get what you were promised? Isaac’s body.]
"My body?"
Isaac was momentarily confused.
Then, Kalsen Miller’s warning came rushing back to him.
"Don’t trust Sword of May too much."
Why had Kalsen warned him?
Kalsen had been deeply involved in everything.
Before Isaac arrived in this world, Kalsen had occupied the same position Isaac did now—
A replacement for the Nameless Chaos.
Perhaps he had noticed something.
[Isaac,] Sword of May hesitated before continuing.
[The Millennium Kingdom needs new bodies.]
Hearing those words, Isaac recalled a grimly common practice of the Immortal Order.
They were always in need of bodies.
Souls continued to accumulate, but flesh was finite.
So what would happen once the Codex of Light’s heaven descended upon the earth?
The Mother of All Gods prevented the living from dying—
But she didn’t resurrect those who were already gone.
Nor did she allow new life to be born.
The Millennium Kingdom would inevitably suffer from a severe shortage of bodies.
Even the angels weren’t exempt.
Their flesh had long since decayed beyond use.
[The Lighthouse Keeper promised the angels that, once the Millennium Kingdom descended, each would be granted the body of a devout follower.
He called them the ’Incarnates’.]
Isaac’s mind raced, sifting through names.
Who were the most exceptional Holy Knights?
Two names immediately surfaced—
Kalsen Miller and Isaac himself.
[Honestly, I didn’t care who it was.]
[I thought I was simply receiving a tool necessary to serve the Codex of Light.]
[For a long time, I assumed it would be Kalsen Miller.]
[But after Kalsen vanished, you appeared.]
[You—the fastest-growing Holy Knight I had ever seen.]
A strange mix of emotions stirred within Isaac.
So that’s why Sword of May had nurtured him—
Because one day, he would be the vessel she would inhabit.
[But today, I found a true Holy Knight.]
Her voice wavered slightly, as if suppressing laughter.
[Let’s be honest, Isaac.
You were never really a Holy Knight to begin with.]
[*You lack faith.
You lack devotion.
You lack humility.*]
[Just because you accomplished great feats doesn’t make you a Holy Knight.
By my standards, you failed.]
"Then who?"
[A Holy Knight is not defined by achievements or swordsmanship.
A Holy Knight is someone who, despite losing faith, despite doubting, despite suffering failures, never abandons their devotion.
Someone who, even when betrayed by the world, does not seek vengeance—
Someone who finds meaning in the mere fact that the child they once protected is still alive.]
Isaac’s breath caught in his throat.
Sword of May whispered—
[Gebel Kranz.]
[He is the true Holy Knight I have been searching for.]
[And I want no other.]
[So, in his name, I will ensure that you accept this world and live on.]
In that moment of stunned silence—
Sword of May relinquished its control over Isaac’s body.
[From now on, Sword of May is your sword, Isaac.]
[Wield it as you see fit.]