The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 36: Day of Departure

"Today as I fought with Dremlin, I found myself asking why I was doing it. I can hardly see any difference between the first day we started and now. Dremlin says I’ve made progress but I can hardly see it. I’m just glad that I won’t have to go through that torture tomorrow."

Izikel paused, lowering his quill. It was the first time he’d written about himself in the diary, and he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right.

"Even if Dremlin didn’t give me much of a choice, it wasn’t really a tough life. I always imagined myself in these kind of situations when reading manga or watching anime, where the main character puts himself through dedicated training only to come out stronger. I used to ask myself would I do it? Would I be able to put myself through that kind of routine to better my life and as a very realistic person I concluded that the answer was no. If I could, I wouldn’t have to wait until I’m in a fantasy world to do it, I could have put in the work to fix my life instead of..."

He stopped and laid back on the bed facing the ceiling as memories from his past haunted him. Tomorrow was the big day, the day they departed for the crusade.

He was feeling nervous, making sleeping a bit difficult. So he thought writing will give him a bit of confidence. Confidence like that of Azrael, the false prophet.

But now it had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"This time... I’ll put in the effort," He whispered to himself.

There were a lot of things he regretted in his past life. He wasn’t going to let this second chance go to waste and to do that he couldn’t die at all cost.

"I’m not going to die. No matter what," he muttered, closing his eyes.

Then, after a beat, he chuckled.

"And if I do... I hope at least that will be the end."

.....

The dawn arrived with silver light and a piercing chill that lingered in the air like unspoken words.

Before the grand gates of the Saint Quarters, 352 warriors stood in formation—armor of silver and steel gleaming beneath the morning sun. The sight was surreal, like a page pulled from a war epic, or a film Izikel might’ve watched in his old life.

He stood among them, clad in fitted leather armor that clung snugly to his smaller frame. It wasn’t as impressive as the metal suits around him, but it was light, and he could move in it. That would have to be enough.

This was the fusion of two full battalions—led by Saint Raynoel and Sophia.

Raynoel stood at the front, majestic in his polished silver armor. A dark blue cloak fluttered behind him like a banner in the breeze, and across his chest gleamed the sacred symbol of the Argenthex bloodline—a cross merged with an arrowhead. Beside him, Sophia was poised and unreadable, dressed in her practical armor, light and closely similar to her usual uniform.

As his gaze swept the assembled warriors, Izikel felt something shift. There was a certain weight in the air—a gravity to the moment. For the first time, the magnitude of what was happening began to settle in his bones.

Then his eyes caught on someone familiar.

His face fell.

Lyzah.

She stood among the other Druids, wearing robes tailored for mobility. When she noticed him, she waved with that bright, annoying smile she always wore, and made her way toward him.

"Guess what?" she grinned, practically bouncing.

Izikel already suspected. He sighed heavily. "Don’t say it."

"My mentor decided I should come on the crusade!"

"Why would he do that?"

"Why not? I’m a Divine Believer—and strong enough to protect myself."

"You realize this isn’t some field trip, right? People die on crusades."

She tilted her head. "If it’s really that dangerous, then why’d they let you come?"

Izikel opened his mouth—then shut it again. She wasn’t wrong. Frustratingly. If there was ever trouble, she had a way higher chance at surviving.

Before he could come up with a reply, another presence approached. Calm, graceful. Fenvil.

"Good morning, Lord Izikel," the golden-haired healer greeted with a slight bow.

Izikel nodded back. He recognized Fenvil from the earlier visit. A serene sort of man. Gentle, almost to a fault. Sophia had mentioned he was part of her unit.

’So this is her mentor,’ he thought, glancing at Lyzah. ’Her father must be too preoccupied with the Old Tree. Probably hasn’t spared her much time in years. I guess... we’re alike that way.’

A sudden call broke the murmuring among the soldiers.

Raynoel had stepped forward.

With a booming voice, he announced:

"The commander of the 17th Legion of the Lunar Kingdom—The Silver Sword Saint, Flavius Argenthex."

Every head turned as Flavius stepped forward.

The man exuded presence. Tall and broad-shouldered, his black clothes seemed to drink in the morning light, while a deep blue coat flowed behind him like a shadow. His black hair was cropped low, neat and severe, and a scar slashed across his left eye. His face was unreadable, hardened like a blade left too long in the cold.

When he spoke, his voice was calm but carried like a war drum through the air.

"Brothers and sisters of the Moon... Hear me now."

"Today, we do not march as mere soldiers. We march as the wrath of the Lunar Kingdom—the sharpened edge of divine justice. The heretics rise with blasphemy in their lungs and rebellion in their hearts—but we rise with purpose, with unity, and with the blessing of the Silver Goddess of the Enchanted Night."

"If you ever feel scared Look to the sky. Our Queen watches from her silver throne. Every beat of our boots echoes in the stars. Every blade we draw bears the weight of our ancestors—the will of the kingdom—the sacred oath we all took beneath her gaze."

"So raise your weapons. Steel your hearts. And march—not as men, not as women—but as Saints of the Lunar Moon."

"Let the heretics learn what it means to stand against the Lunar Kingdom."

The soldiers roared in unison.

"Yes, sir!"

It was thunder. A single voice, fractured into hundreds, resonating through stone and spirit alike.

Raynoel lifted his sword, pointing toward the path ahead.

"Saints of the Lunar Kingdom—move out!"

The march began.

Izikel turned to fall into line with Lyzah and Fenvil—but before he could take a step, a voice like frost gripped him.

"Lord Izikel."

He froze. That voice didn’t need to shout to demand attention.

Flavius Argenthex.

’what does he want now?’

Flavius approached, eyes unreadable. "I wanted to have a few words with you before you depart."