"A world free from mortal peril, huh?"
Isaac fixed Beshek with a piercing gaze. It sounded like a noble cause — almost too noble.
"You make it sound like the world is on the brink of collapse."
"Nothing lasts forever," Beshek replied with a languid smile, his tone calm but weighty.
"I realized that long ago when I studied the Codex of Light. Any scholar of the scriptures worth their salt knows this truth. All flas will extinguish, all incense will scatter, and all that is high will flow downward. This is the order of the world decreed by the Codex of Light."
To Isaac, it sounded familiar — a poetic rendition of entropy.
Entropy, the inevitable march of disorder.
The ash left behind by a burnt tree cannot be reignited.
The universe, Isaac thought, was bound to be consud by entropy. Every combustible resource would burn out, every star would fade, and all would beco a cold, lifeless void.
"When the Codex of Light laid the heavens above and the earth below, the seeds of destruction were sown alongside creation. The Lighthouse Keeper understood this first… and eventually, so did I."
Isaac contemplated this world’s unique cosmology.
For all its resemblance to physics, there were glaring inconsistencies. The very idea of divine beings ddling in physical laws was absurd.
These gods and angels wielded miracles that defied reason: conjuring fire from nothing, raising the dead, bending the impossible to their will. They reversed entropy itself — or rather, made it seem reversible — through sheer belief.
Faith was the dium that rendered these violations of natural law possible.
‘It’s like a fairy tale,’ Isaac mused.
In this world, gods were both omnipotent tools and insurmountable obstacles.
If entropy represented the end of all things, then these divine beings — and the belief they sustained — were its fiercest adversaries.
Isaac’s thoughts wandered to the end of such a world.
Here, apocalypse would an not a cataclysm, but the universe filling with entropy — the ashes of all that was.
"So… it’s Naless Chaos that brings about the end," Isaac murmured, his tone resigned.
Beshek didn’t disagree.
"Correct."
Isaac exhaled deeply, his breath heavy with the weight of realization.
Naless Chaos wasn’t just a repository for the world’s cast-offs. It was entropy made manifest — a collective of discarded, ruined, and irredeemable fragnts.
Its monstrous hordes, horrifying in their grotesque simplicity, were re representations of belief. To make sense of an abstract concept, people gave it a face.
"Then it’s impossible for to be on your side," Isaac said flatly.
Beshek raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"Because this world works the way people believe it does. And I believe — with absolute certainty — that if this world follows the Codex of Light’s principles, then it will inevitably fall to ruin."
Isaac thought back to the monastery, where even the most devout abbot had failed to best him in a test of faith.
It wasn’t that Isaac was particularly pious. Rather, he believed in the immutable laws of physics as inherently as he believed the sun would rise.
The entropy of the universe wasn’t just an idea to him; it was an inevitability, a fundantal truth.
"And you, Beshek… you, the Immortal Emperor, and even the Lighthouse Keeper — you all believe in the world of the Codex of Light. That ans you also believe in the end it will bring: a world consud by Naless Chaos."
Isaac tilted his head, scrutinizing Beshek’s expression.
"But this talk of fighting it — of trying to stop entropy — sounds a lot like heresy for a god."
***
The candle burned low, its wax pooling at the base as the fla consud it.
Isaac stared at it, watching entropy unfold before his eyes. To Beshek, this simple scene must have seed like a small, unremarkable harbinger of the world’s end.
The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the fla.
Isaac’s fingers tightened around the knife still in his grasp.
‘I thought this would be just another dream-like vision, but what if I actually die here?’
"Heresy… I suppose that began the mont I founded the Immortal Order," Beshek said, his smile turning cold.
For the dead to rise and walk among the living — was there a more flagrant blasphemy against the Codex of Light? And yet, Beshek, once a devout priest, had done exactly that.
"I despaired at the Codex’s utter indifference to human life. So I committed heresy to save even a handful of people. Is that such a cri? You’d do the sa, wouldn’t you? To save those you care about?"
Beshek leaned forward, his face re inches from Isaac’s.
"If you had the power — the chance — to save them, would you just sit back and let them die because ‘it’s their ti?’"
Isaac hesitated, his breath catching in his throat.
"Could you truly accept the fact that the universe we live in is so indifferent, so unfeeling, so rcilessly cold and cruel?"
Isaac fell silent.
Isaac, who had once scrambled solely for his own survival, had taken on the responsibility of leading an army—not entirely for himself. If soone were to say, "It’s ti; everyone should just die," Isaac, too, would rebel.
And this was a world where even death could be deferred.
As long as one had sufficient faith.
So wasn’t rebellion natural?
Beshek had rebelled against order simply because it was possible.
“Exactly. I aligned myself with the Lighthouse Keeper! While it had no regard for the deaths of its believers, it showed imnse interest in my birth. Or perhaps... it was the one that orchestrated my birth to begin with! But!”
Beshek growled, directing his words sharply at Isaac.
“My followers, those who were senselessly sacrificed for the amusent of the gods, their lives crushed and ground by the rciless and indifferent laws inscribed by the Codex of Light! If they can continue to dream and achieve what they couldn’t in life, then I don’t care—even if it ans cooperating with the Lighthouse Keeper!”
Beshek’s roar brought a mory to Isaac’s mind.
There was a ti when the followers of the Naless Chaos had told him about the "fraud" of the Immortal Emperor and the Lighthouse Keeper.
Now, everything was starting to connect.
The Lighthouse Keeper had been using the Immortal Emperor to intentionally delay or build a foundation to prevent the "inevitable" destruction.
For the followers of the Naless Chaos, this world should have ended 300 years ago. However, it seed the Lighthouse Keeper had been holding it off.
Isaac reviewed the sequence of events again.
Three centuries ago, for reasons unknown, the Cult of the Naless Chaos had surged in power.
They fervently "desired" the end of the world.
Responding to their doctrine and miracles, the cult successfully conducted a ritual, and destruction descended upon the world.
In the midst of this catastrophe, Bishop Beshek found a way. He turned his followers into undead, enabling them to survive.
The undead beca a sort of breakwater against destruction.
Circumstantial evidence suggested that the entity that guided Beshek into becoming the Immortal Emperor was the Lighthouse Keeper itself. After all, it had even anded the Urbansus Codex to prevent Beshek’s death.
The Lighthouse Keeper had known that it could prevent destruction through the Immortal Emperor.
In other words, the Immortal Emperor may not have been the perpetrator, but the first victim of the sche.
And the "second" was likely Kalsen Miller.
The Lighthouse Keeper had collaborated with the Immortal Emperor to attempt to turn Kalsen Miller into a god, seeking to overthrow the position of the Naless Chaos among the Nine Faiths and create a world without an end.
But the Lighthouse Keeper failed.
In this world, Isaac had interfered, but even without him, the plan would have failed.
Was it just Beshek and Kalsen? What about the Elil Sect, the Red Chalice’s escape, or the discord with the World’s Forge? There may have been countless Besheks and Kalsens that Isaac could not even begin to fathom.
“All of this was the Lighthouse Keeper’s attempt to forestall inevitable destruction,” Isaac concluded.
Sacrificing countless lives, enforcing aningless deaths—it was all part of the process.
The process was rciless, to be sure, but the Lighthouse Keeper likely cared nothing for such reproach.
To it, it was rely about redefining the rules. Rebuilding the foundation of the universe and realigning the stars. Would a few grains of sand crushed in the process matter?
“What is the Millennium Kingdom that the Lighthouse Keeper is striving for, even at the cost of defying the Codex of Light?”
“I don’t know,” Beshek whispered, steadying his breath.
“I’ve never seen it. While the Lighthouse Keeper and I share the sa goal, our thods need not align.”
The Immortal Order’s thod for averting destruction was simple.
If everyone beca undead, they would no longer fear death.
Isaac pondered how, if all of humanity were to turn undead, concerns about sustenance would vanish, carbon emissions would plumt, and environntal pollution would cease. It was almost comical. Yet, in a way, it was the most extre thod of suppressing entropy.
“But the Lighthouse Keeper doesn’t care about humanity. Do you really believe that cruel being is pursuing the perpetuation of the world for humanity’s sake? Isaac, think about it—an eternal world under the Lighthouse Keeper’s rule!”
Isaac didn’t need to think.
It was clear that the Immortal Emperor had far more affection for humanity. He exercised minimal control over his followers, giving them purpose rather than plunging them into despair.
Though a cold undead, Beshek had a warm heart. His love for humanity had transford him into a god, performing miracles that brought the underworld to the mortal plane.
“If you truly wish for the world’s continuity, if you do not desire destruction, if your love for humanity is genuine... then you should side with , not the Codex of Light. Don’t you agree?”
Isaac closed his eyes. After exhaling a deep sigh, he finally spoke.
“Everything you’ve said is true.”
Isaac’s quiet words to Beshek carried no denial.
No one wishes for their own death, the loss of what they hold dear, or the collapse of the world. It was hard to imagine that even a follower of the Naless Chaos would truly desire such an end. But at least Isaac didn’t.
“Which is why this choice feels so unpleasant.”
Isaac plunged the dagger into Beshek’s chest.
Beshek’s brows furrowed briefly as he glanced down at the blade embedded precisely in his heart.
Letting out a single sigh, he slumped into his chair. As blood began to seep into his garnts, he murmured,
“I’ll try persuading you again next ti.”
“It’ll be pointless.”
“This isn’t sothing I can give up on, just because it’s hard.”
Isaac’s vision began to blur.
***
Crack, crunch.
Isaac opened his eyes to the sound of bones breaking and flesh being devoured. He was in the Labyrinth Valley, where his servants were feasting on the Mountain Elder.
None of them seed to notice Isaac’s peculiar state.
“So, the Immortal Emperor was trying to hold back to convince .”
Isaac realized he couldn’t escape the mory because it hadn’t yet "progressed."
The solution to exiting the Elder’s mory was simple: let the mory play out as it should. By doing so, Isaac had returned to reality.
Whether peering into the past through the Mountain Elder had been intentional or not, the Immortal Emperor hadn’t wasted the opportunity.
His persuasion had been partially effective. Isaac had glimpsed how fragile and hastily constructed the shell of this world was.
And he understood that the ti was approaching when he, too, as soone who both loved this world and might bring about its end, would have to make a choice.
“What will you do when the Codex of Light begins to oppose you?”
Isaac had once thought those words were rely a hint at politics and conspiracy. But now, after uncovering the truth beneath the shell, they carried a much deeper resonance.
“What will you do if the world you love decides to kill you?”
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