Paladin 4: Chapter 20 (Patreon)

Since no one came out to fight, the signal went up for the rest of the army to head into town and truly scour the place for clues.

They’d arrived in Watershed quickly enough to prevent the manifestation of demons, but they hadn’t arrived quite soon enough to stop the undead from rising. Some of the corpses started moving, and a few less-experienced holy adepts around him grew excited at the prospect.

“I think this one’s alive! She just twitched!” A young man said with a hopeful grin on his face. Now that the rest of the army had come, some new recruits were present to stomach the sight of so much death for the first time. Darren had seen that one in particular puking in the corner mere minutes ago.

“Get back,” Darren warned, but in his eagerness, the young man didn’t listen. Behind him, a paladin stepped forward with her sword already drawn. She knew as well as Darren did what was about to happen.

The young woman opened a pair of cloudy and unseeing eyes.

“You’re alright, I’ve got--“ the young man began, guiding the dead woman to sit upright.

She let out a harsh, guttural hiss before lunging forward and biting two of the holy adept’s fingers clean off.

“Ahhh!” He screamed, clutching his bleeding hand. The paladin behind him skewered the newly risen undead straight through the skull, putting it down with her first and only attack. She reached into the dead woman’s mouth with her gauntleted hands and pulled out the holy adept’s two severed fingers.

“I reckon you’ve got ten minutes to find a priestess to reattach those. Hurry!” She pulled the frightened holy adept to his feet and sent him off, cradling his two severed fingers. When the holy adept was out of sight, the paladin shot Darren a grin. “I bet he won’t make that mistake again.”

Darren nodded in approval. It was glad that some of his people had taken his training methods to heart. Still, he’d have to spread some of his Fountain of Youth water around his forces if anyone needed to regenerate lost limbs once all the fighting was done.

Darren quickly swept the town with his purification ability, converting most of the Demonic Aura into Divine Aura. That wiped out the Demonic Spirits forming in the area and would drop their numbers low enough that they couldn’t take over any corpses. So between that and the sunlight beaming down, this town would be fine.

He left some men behind to dig a mass grave for all the villagers. Letting them rot in the streets would invite more Demonic Spirits from afar. The bulk of the army continued onward. There were a lot more towns than this one to visit.

They encountered a few survivors here and there. Most were those who stayed behind in the villages, but there were a couple in the various towns who didn’t drink or had some inkling of what was happening and cherished their mortal lives too much to heed the local priest’s encouragement to drink and ascend to the heavens.

But the number of people lost would be catastrophic for the nation of Whiteguard. Local lords and administrators lay dead next to farmers and craftsmen. With so many dead, the nation was a disheveled mess of lawlessness and broken trade routes. Whoever gave this order clearly had no intention of using Whiteguard any further because it would be ungovernable in its current state. The locals were lucky Darren’s army was sweeping in to restore order and bury the dead, otherwise they’d be quickly overwhelmed by the undead and the demons that were just now beginning to emerge.

More than one band of survivors they found were barricaded in their homes as they held fast against the mindless slobbering corpses of their former neighbors, now turned undead. Those were the encounters he and his men liked the most. The locals were overjoyed to be rescued by a group of paladins, even if these paladins were from Limedeep or the Blackwind Empire instead of from their own nation.

“Sir, we owe you our lives,” a woman bowed. Behind her, her husband stabbed a zombie with his pitchfork, making sure it was dead. Her young children clung to one another, faces pale but full of hope as they looked upon our rescues. “I must have the name of our savior.”

Darren answered honestly. “I am Darren Heavengrace, son of Ariel Heavengrace.”

The woman recognized the name as he suspected she might. She held a hand over her lips as Darren disabled his Cloak of the Mysterious Hero, and she could get a full view of him.

“So the rumors are true. A living Heavengrace is walking the world. Apologies for my poor manners, your majesty...” the woman curtseyed, pulling her frayed skirt wide in an unpracticed attempt at courtly etiquette.

“No need to bow.” Darren pulled her back up to her feet.

Others had a similar reaction to his name. He was surprised to hear it still held so much weight. Apparently, the stewards the Order of the Rod had placed in control of the kingdom had not been well-liked. The older generation looked upon the ruling family of their youth with fondness. And among the youth, their admiration for him was even greater.

“Ariel Heavengrace was the greatest priestess ever!” A young girl jumped in excitement after Darren introduced himself to her band of survivors. “She held back a demon attack single-handed and healed all the wounded and crippled in an entire city free of charge!”

Next to her, a young boy was equally excited. “I heard a rumor that Darren Heavengrace fought a Prime Sin and won!” He stared intently at Darren. “Was that really you?”

“Yes, my mother saved Limedeep. And yes, I fought Asmoth’Koteth in Salsroth, though I wouldn’t say I won. Merely endured,” Darren replied.

Spirits rose among Darren’s men as they realized what they thought would be a climactic battle between nations was instead turning into a humanitarian rescue mission. There was fighting, but only against the undead they were accustomed to and against the few demons that had manifested before their arrival. If any had doubts about the righteousness of their cause before, they were gone now as the locals welcomed and thanked them for saving them from demons and undead.

Eventually, Darren and his men made it to the town Callum, and the elite scouting party they’d sent were supposed to be in. Darren rushed ahead when he sensed a familiar presence deep in the town.

Callum was there, and he was fine. He turned abruptly at Darren’s approach.

“Darren? You’re not supposed to be here! What if there’s a surprise attack?” Callum stood, spear in hand, as he glanced at the skies warily.

“If one was to happen, it would have done so already.” Darren crossed his arms. “But you. You were late to the rendezvous.”

Callum ran his hand along the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry. I ended up changing the mission. He gestured to the bodies laid out around him. Darren recognized them. They were all men from the elite force he’d been training. At first, he took them for corpses like all the others lying about, but he sensed a faint spark of life in each of them and a newly bound sigil.

“I couldn’t just let them die.” Callum gestured to the people all around him. “Besides, they have valuable intelligence about what exactly happened here. It took a bit of work, but I figured out the ale everyone drank was poisoned with something that spikes Divine Aura levels. The only way to stabilize their souls long enough for them to survive was to have them bind sigils, so they have an outlet for all that extra power without having their souls pop right out of their physical vessels.”

“You ignored the plan. I thought you were in trouble,” Darren replied.

“Sorry I worried you. But you’re the one who always says a plan needs to be flexible. I made an executive decision in the field to meet our goals.” Callum grinned sheepishly.

Darren crossed his arms. Overhead, dozens of fourth-order warriors secured the area, and an entire area came streaming in behind him. Callum’s jaw dropped open when he saw the scale of the reinforcements Darren brought with him.

That brought a smile to Darren’s lips. When he saw Callum’s shocked look, he said, “I also made an executive decision in the field. We are conquering Whiteguard.”

Callum hadn’t succeeded in saving all of Darren’s elite troops, but he’d saved those closest to bonding a sigil. He’d also used quite a few other sigils attempting to preserve the lives of a couple of the local villagers. Perhaps they could provide information when they awoke.

But in the meantime, Darren picked one of the troops that Callum hadn’t been able to save. He spotted the corpse of the eager young man who was always the first to show up for training in the morning. With a flick of his finger, Darren restored him to life.

His heartbeat and blood coursed through his veins, but he didn’t awaken. Darren didn’t understand what was wrong at first, but a bit of investigation soon revealed the culprit. The young man’s soul wasn’t in his body. It was in the sky, drifting toward the heavens.

It would have been out of reach if it had been just a little faster. Nearly all the other souls had already drifted high enough to find an aperture leading into the Seven Heavens, but this young man must have been pretty stubborn and unwilling to die, so his soul had been slow to leave his body behind.

That meant Darren could catch up to it in the air and haul it back down to shove it into his empty body. The young man coughed and spluttered before opening his eyes.

“I... I saw a bright light... I was going toward it...” He let out a wheezing breath.

“That was the Heavens,” Darren explained. “Don’t worry. I brought you back before you made it there.”

He let out a short chuckle. “I think I’m supposed to be mad at you for stealing me away from Divine Bliss, sir.”

“No warrior of mine lets mere death stop him. I have died plenty of times,” Darren said.

“Yes, sir!” The young man quit his slouching and sat up straight.

“Report, soldier.”

The young man quickly retold Darren and Callum everything he had experienced prior to his death. Things were largely as Darren suspected. The most devout villagers from the surrounding area streamed into town for the festival, and everyone drank a bunch of ale. After everyone had drunk, the local high priest gave a speech about how they would ascend to the heavens in a rush and that their souls had a higher calling.

By the time everyone realized they were poisoned, it was too late. People were keeling over right where they stood with looks of rapture on their faces. The poison was painless as it killed. Something about enhancing the Divine Aura and plucking out the soul felt positively orgasmic.

“And that’s the last thing I remember, sir. Now, you said the rest of our forces have spare pants available?” The young man asked hopefully.

“Go.” Darren jerked his head back behind him.

Callum let out a low whistle. “Damn. Well, I’m glad the dead passed without much suffering.”

“We need to keep moving. I will trust cleaning up this town to you. Purify the corpses so that no undead arise.” Darren left Callum with a few dozen men and a few holy adepts before continuing on to the next town. Now that Darren had a better grasp of the situation, he didn’t expect to encounter any trouble until they got to the capital.

They took care of the next few towns swiftly. Now that they knew what to expect, his people were quick and efficient. By the time the sun set, they’d reached the remains of one of Whiteguard’s larger cities.

There were more survivors here, and a few groups had already banded together to fight the undead roaming the streets. There were even a few imps darting between structures and opening doors for the shambling zombies making their way through the city.

They were slowly losing ground to the undead and the demons, but when Darren’s forces arrived, they made short work of both the demons and the undead.

“Hey, looks like the festival-goers left the food out! Not bad. The buns are a bit cold, but this pie is great!” A paladin grinned as he helped himself to a plate, swatting a nearby undead aside with the back of one gauntleted hand as he made his way to the food.

They had a grand feast, and the camp cooks hardly even needed to prepare anything. Darren scooped up all the poisoned ale barrels and moved them into his Inventory, replacing them with fresh stuff adulterated with a little bit of water from his Fountain of Youth instead.

The following morning they left the city behind, put to order for their visit. The few survivors would have a tough time rebuilding the city, but the farming villages were in much better shape, and Darren directed the city-dwellers to them. They’d have to earn a living as farmhands until he could put this kingdom back together again.

Darren and his forces swept over the land from all four directions. He kept his force intact since he planned to hit all the largest cities. But Cassandra, Asuriel, and Sasha split their armies into four parts each so they could cover more ground. That turned an expedition that would have taken months into something that would only take a few weeks, assuming they continued to meet no appreciable resistance.

But as Darren and his army swept through the first of Whiteguard’s Citadel, he soon realized there would be little resistance at all.

“How odd...” Priestess Blossom said. She’d come with Darren’s forces. Originally, she’d been with Sasha, but a healer of her caliber was better suited to going wherever the fighting was thickest. Also, like Sasha, she was from Whiteguard, so she was a great deal of help with directions. Morgana trailed behind her, poking over the abandoned Citadel of Granitebreak. It was in far better shape than Neverhorn, as this one looked like it had been manned and tended to until mere days prior. But it was empty all the same.

“What?” Darren asked.

“There aren’t any paladin, priestess, or cleric corpses anywhere. The citadel must have been completely empty during the festival.” Priestess Blossom scrunched her brows in confusion.

“Or Kalaziel had a different plan in mind for them...” Darren’s mind turned back to the rumors he’d heard. He’d heard a few whispers of the Order of the Rod possessing some pathway leading directly to the heavens. Perhaps Kalaziel wasn’t quite as quick to spend the souls of his most valuable servants.

Granitebreak held no answers for them, so after leaving behind a skeleton crew to convert the abandoned citadel into a fortress under their own control, Darren moved onward, trailing along Whiteguard’s northern coast.

There were no answers to be found in this citadel, nor the next one over. The craftsmen and women for the old citadels scattered around the Sacred Seas had mostly come from Whiteguard years ago, so they had more such fortresses than any other land.

But if any still lived after what had transpired in this kingdom, they weren’t in their citadels now. The undead and the demons put up more resistance than the locals as they swept over the land. There were a few incidents where local landed lords still held half a garrison of troops, but most hid in their towers and estates the moment they saw Darren was a paladin, let alone the scale of the forces behind him.

Only one of them stood out at all.

“You there! Sir Paladin!” A fair-haired lord on a towering steed rode toward Darren with all haste. A dozen horsemen trailed behind him. Ordinarily, a dozen fighting men might be intimidating, but not to Darren. With an entire army at his back marching hard, the intimidation probably went the other way around.

“Speak,” Darren called out in reply.

“What has the Order of the Rod done with all my men?” The man asked, worry in his voice. Even on his horse, he was only at eye level with Darren.

“I do not know, but if they went to the neighboring town, they are likely dead,” Darren replied.

The man cursed. “Heavens damn them. I knew I never should have let my silly little girl take up a sigil. Oh Sasha, I hope you’re safe...”

Darren’s eyebrows rose at that. “Sasha?”

He thought the name was a coincidence, but after a bit of inquiry to the man before him and through Cassandra’s Psychic Bond, Darren soon realized he was standing before Sasha’s father. The man was overjoyed to hear his daughter was alright, although a bit concerned to learn she was at the head of an enemy army invading Whiteguard.

“You’re not riding out to fight her, are you?” the nobleman asked nervously. “My darling Sasha has always been a bit of a silly girl. I’m sure some heinous villain tricked her into leading this army! There’s no way she’d turn against her countrymen...”

“No, she works for me,” Darren replied. “I’m invading Whiteguard too. It’s my army.”

The nobleman was stunned, and his hand went for his sword by reflex. He eyed Darren up and down, as well as the vast army trailing behind him. Despite the fear in his eyes, he drew his sword anyway. “A-and who might you be, to lead such an army into our lands?” He looked like he was asking for the name of his killer.

“Darren Heavengrace.”

Sasha’s father froze. “Heavengrace, you say. You have the right look about you. I remember our last king. Tell me, since you’re here with an army at your back. Do you intend to conquer Whiteguard.”

Darren shook his head. “No. I come to save it.”

Sasha’s father sheathed his sword. “Then my men and I will follow you to the capital, few as we may be.”