The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 60: Traitor (4)

When a Saint completes his first three trials and enters the second stage of Divinity, they are called Blessed—because they receive a sacred gift from their god.

For Gallad, that blessing came in the form of Bastion’s Moonlight—a divine gift from the Lunar Goddess herself. A hammer, graceful in form yet unmatched in destructive force. It was a weapon of great power, capable of shattering mountains and flattening walls. Unlike the other blessings given to Saints, which often manifested as permanent weapons or enhancements, Gallad’s hammer could only be summoned for a limited time because of how much soul energy it consumed. But in that window, it was as if the full force of the moon had descended into his hands.

It was that same force that made Gallad the strongest combatant in the 17th Legion—a soldier whose presence meant victory. Unshakable in the face of adversity, a one-man army clad in divine armor, wielding death with every swing of his hammer. A symbol of unwavering power.

And now, that same legend was struggling... against just one man.

Most of the men under his command were already dead—cut down like grass beneath the edge of a silver blade. Their bodies lay scattered across the blood-stained soil, some with eyes still open in disbelief. The air was thick with the iron scent of blood, heavy with silence and the weight of betrayal.

Only a few soldiers and the five captains remained. Their faces were pale, their breaths shaky. Fear flickered in their eyes like the dying embers of a fire. None had come through this battle unscathed—blood dripped from wounds both deep and shallow, their armor dented and cracked. Yet it wasn’t just the exhaustion. They were struggling because the enemy wasn’t a beast or invader.

They were fighting their commander.

"Damnit... how is he so strong?" Tanya muttered. Her auburn hair, usually tied neatly in a braid, was fraying at the ends, streaked with blood that wasn’t hers.

It was what they were all thinking.

How was one man capable of bringing this much destruction?

Her eyes fell on the silver blade. In the moonlight, it gleamed like liquid starfire, entrancing and terrible. Her gaze lingered just a moment too long. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. The sword pulled her in, her mind blanking as it approached. She only realized what had happened when the pain came. But by then, it was too late.

The blade pierced her chest cleanly. Her mouth opened to speak, but no sound came. She crumpled silently to the ground.

"Fuck... he killed Tanya!" one of the captains roared in disbelief.

"How are we supposed to fight him when we can’t even look at his blade?" another shouted, backing away.

"We have to try. If we don’t—we’re all dead," a third captain snapped.

They rushed forward. Desperation gave them speed, but not skill. The silver blade danced through their ranks like a ghost, slipping between blades and spears, answering each strike with fatal precision. One by one, the captains fell.

And then, only one man remained—Gallad, the hammer-wielding Blessed Saint.

He stood panting, bloodied and bruised, his muscles trembling beneath his heavy armor. His hammer pulsed with pale blue light, its summoning nearing its end.

"How... are you doing this?" Gallad managed, fury and confusion etched on his face.

The man before him said nothing.

Everyone had heard the stories of the Silver Sword Saint—about the enchantment on his weapon. The moonlight reflecting off the blade charmed all who looked at it, trapping them in a trance. It was no secret, no myth. But Gallad had thought himself prepared. He believed that if he avoided staring too long, if he glimpsed only briefly, he could still fight.

He had been wrong.

Even without directly looking at it, the enchantment tugged at his senses. His hammer—a weapon said to rival the might of siege engines—had not landed a single blow. Worse still, he found himself hesitating, second-guessing every swing. It was as if the air itself refused to carry his strikes toward the enemy.

He tried smashing the ground to disrupt the Commander’s movement. Stones flew, dust rose in thick clouds. But the momentary chaos only worked against him. In that confusion, the Commander vanished—reappearing at Gallad’s flank.

Too late, Gallad raised his hammer to block.

The clash echoed like thunder.

But the mistake had already been made. He had stared too long at the silver blade. That hesitation cost him. A sharp pain tore through his side. A secondary blade—a short raiper—slid between his ribs.

"Your blessing was never suited for a Saint of the night," the Commander said coldly, withdrawing the blade. "It was always far too loud."

The pain snapped Gallad out of his trance. He stumbled back, swinging wildly to create distance. Each breath was a gasp. Blood poured from his side in pulsing waves. He dropped to one knee.

One look at the wound, and he knew—this was it.

Still, he tried to smile.

"You’re strong. I’ll give you that," Gallad muttered, coughing blood. "But... I completed my mission."

The Commander frowned. "Tell me who’s behind this. I’ll let you live."

"Go die, you bastard," Gallad spat. "Why would we need a reason to do what’s right? Why should foreigners rule our people? This should’ve been corrected long ago. You letting it continue is the true betrayal. Open your eyes, Flavius."

Silence.

Flavius tilted his head.

"I’ve heard those words before..."

His expression darkened.

"So this was your choice... brother."

Gallad’s eyes widened.

Flavius nodded to himself. "Of course. Only one man besides the Bishop has the influence for this—High Priest Vircan Argenthex."

He didn’t need confirmation. He could see the truth in Gallad’s silence.

Vircan—his own elder brother. The man who had questioned the nobility of the Vau-Leotard since they were children. And now, after all these years... he had made his move.

"And he just had to involve Raynoel in his foolish plot," Flavius muttered. "How misguided can you be, Vircan?"

"It’s you that’s misguided," Gallad whispered, face contorting with a final laugh. "Raynoel’s probably already driven his blade into your precious Izikel’s heart."

Flavius smiled.

"Is that what you think?"

He turned away.

"I doubt it’s going to be that easy for him. The one waiting at the top of that hill might surprise him."

Then, he lifted his sword.

"As for you... may you reflect on your sins in the afterlife."

One clean slash.

Gallad’s head split cleanly down the center.

The hammer vanished