Chapter 27 – World’s Paladin
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He stood in a field of tattered bodies, severed limbs, spit heads and broken weapons, all soaked in the copper sheen of drying blood. He sifted his way through the viscera towards the cave mouth that had once been Fred's shop. The green forests and vibrant fields had been destroyed by battle and fire even before he arrived, and the soot and bloodstained land that was left there was nothing like the meeting place they had gathered for, worked together and built up. Roland through his spear away. It was just another random weapon he picked up in the fight. Whenever he was about to die, the people he was fighting would try to take his gear from him to prevent him from having it when he resurrected. That hadn't bothered him, he simply had to take a weapon from the ground or from one of the people fighting him. He had long since lost the preference for any weapon in particular. If he wasn't armed he could always just punch and claw and flail and kick. The only difference was the number of people he could take with him with each death.

He had arrived at the battlefield after the fight was over and the camp was abolished, but the enemy had left behind a section of their troops to clean up. Without a respawn point or shrine nearby, he would have had to walk a lot of ground after each death, but the 12th world granted him a new ability. While standing on ground that is soaked with death, he could cause the ground to rise up and form a new shine. Without any fear of the tedium that death would cause, he could accept the blissful embrace it gave and charged the foes the moment the shrine was formed. At first, each soldier was more than a match for him, and their teamwork ensured he could barely make a scratch on them before dying. That didn't bother him, he loved the sensation. The more they killed him the more bliss he would feel. The more of them he killed, the greater the sensation would get. So, he came back again and again, as scratches and bruises became cuts and bludgeons, which became gashes and fractures. With each person he killed, the whole group became noticeably weaker. It wasn't just in terms of their cooperative strength, but also their individual strengths got worse. On and on he fought until they knew he wouldn't break. They couldn't make him quit and he wouldn't stay down. They broke first and tried to run. But he wouldn't let them; he pounced on the fleeing people like a wild beast. He tore into them with sword, spear, fist and teeth, not letting a single person escape. He used bow and crossbow, bolas and net, chasing them down as they tried to get away. His body acted almost free from thought, as if striking was all that it needed, as if he were a machine that existed only for death.

When the battle was over, he felt kind of aimless. He had such a clear purpose while he was in action that it was a hollow feeling to be still. He kicked over a body to retrieve his most prized possession, the only thing he couldn't stand having snatched from him, the daggers that the angels left him. Taking them carefully into his hands, he cleaned them off and tied them once more to their rightful place on his belt. He couldn't stand it when someone else touched his treasure. He dragged the body responsible for that sacrilege by the neck towards the cart that had the army supplies. Inside he fished out some torch oil and doused the offending body. It wasn't enough to merely kill them, he wanted to make sure not even a scrap of its flesh remained. He replaced his tattered armour and bag and took out a new shield, sword and spear. After filling the bag with whatever he needed to travel, he dumped the body into the cart and lit a spark with a flint and steel. As he watched over the flame, feeling its warmth soak into his cold core, he didn't notice the way the blood-soaked battleground moved. Every drop of red vital fluid moved like snakes, tearing through bodies that trapped it to converge at the shrine. The blood formed into the dirt of the shrine, dying it crimson as it did, then soaked into the core of the earthen structure. Then, from the cloudless sky, a bolt of lightning hailed down and shatter the shrine, sending dirt in all directions.

Examining the remains, surrounded by desiccated corpses, Roland found a beautifully crafted mace. The shaft was as long as his whole arm and the head was shaped like a four-pointed star, with sharp bladed edges along the edges of the prism. The edges converged at a twisting point, like the twisting of raspberry liquorish twists. It's most striking feature was that it seemed to be made entirely from one single massive ruby. Such a weapon couldn't possibly exist in nature, and it had to be proof that even the heavens supported his quest. With such a weapon, no one could ever lay a hand on his angels. When he picked it up, it came apart, splitting into four and then four again and a dozen red snakes tore their way into his arm, eating away at the flesh to build themselves homes.  When they were done, his arm was decorated with ruby lightning-scars that stopped just short of his elbow. With a single thought, he could command the snakes to take their weapon form. The heavens had seen his trial and granted him a weapon that he could carry into death. He could never be disarmed, and he would never stop coming.

Along with the mace, he received a new class; World's Paladin. It was another improvement on the Knight series of classes, a step up from his previous Gallant Knight. Most notably, it gave him access to of a range of spells; spells that he was able to cast. Ever since the game first launched, there had been a Paladin class available, though they were never able to use the spells that were listed. With a simple hand gesture and a commanding recitation of the spell, he cause the dried up bodies on the ground to form together, twist and meld, until they had the form of a horse with saddle, reins and stirrups. The horse was bloodless and lifeless, but it still moved as if it were alive, making a dry gusting sound as it imitated breathing. Without a care for how it looked, Roland hooked his bag to the saddle and mounted it. He could decay any tree in his path and flatten the earth as that happened. He would be able to travel in straight lines, without delays from navigating or traversing obstacles. Whenever he found a trace of his angels, he would be able to head straight for them.

"Truly the gods favour me; they know what I'm doing is right."

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