Rise of the OtherGod Apostle: Not a Cult Leader, but a Serf?!

#123Reader Mode

#123

His reaction is… surprisingly normal.

I had braced myself for something more dramatic. If he was as crazy as I thought—still treating this entire situation like some game to “win”—he should’ve freaked out the moment he realized his distortion had no effect on me. Honestly, I half-expected him to whip out a knife and hold it to my throat.

But no. Instead, I’m looking at a flustered, blushing mess.

“You could’ve told me that earlier, you know…” he muttered, his face practically on fire.

Still, I didn’t let my guard down.

Would he have reacted the same way if his distortion had worked?

He might come across as sloppy, or even a little dumb at first, but I know better. This is the Prophet we’re talking about. A manipulative scumbag who wouldn’t blink before using distortion to get what he wanted. He’d twist people’s weaknesses like they were his personal playthings.

If it weren’t for my Whole World Is Beneath Oneself trait, I’d probably be flailing around like a bug trapped in the dark right now.

“Are you, by any chance, a player of Order?” the scumbag asked, hesitant.

“What’s a player of Order?”

“You know… not a follower of an Othergod, but a player chosen by Roklem.”

“Is that even possible?”

Some players have to grind from nothing, clawing their way up by building heretical cults, fighting for every scrap of power. And now he’s implying there’s some lucky bastard out there who gets a god-mode start with a continent-spanning religion handed to them?

Ridiculous.

That kind of power wouldn’t just upset the balance, it’d break the entire game. The system would collapse.

And more importantly, if a player like that existed, there’s no way the Saint wouldn’t know about them.

“…So, you’re not?”

“No. I’m just a player who surrendered to the Order.”

He narrowed his eyes, glaring like I’d just insulted him.

“What?”

“…Don’t lie.”

“And why would I lie?”

“This is definitely some trap set by that crazy bastard, isn’t it? I’m not falling for it.”

“Wait, who’s this ‘crazy bastard’? And, before that, why do you think I’m lying? I’m serious. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re still sane. And you know what a player is.”

“…So, surrendering to the Order destroys your sanity?”

His expression shifted, suddenly awkward. “You seriously don’t know?”

“I told you, I don’t. After I possessed a serf, I spent almost half a year just farming.”

“…Half a year? Didn’t your Helper contact you? What about the tutorial quests?”

Helper? Quests?

So, while I was out there breaking my back with a rusty hoe, other players were being guided through quests and getting rewards handed to them?

The system’s deprivation is ridiculous.

“Helper? You mean the system interface?”

“No, I’m talking about the thing that spams you with notifications and tells you what to do. Tutorial pop-ups and all. You know, the one that says stuff like ‘entertain me, mortal’ or whatever. It’s like a mini version of your Othergod patron, but not fully connected to the main body…”

As he explained, it clicked. A Helper was basically a low-level assistant, a fragment of an Othergod’s consciousness left behind to babysit new players.

I frowned.

“I don’t think I have one.”

“What? Then how do you increase your stats?”

“…Helpers handle that too?”

“Of course! They’re the ones who convert your points into rewards. The quests come from the Helper, too.”

Damn, so I can’t do anything without one?

Listening to the Prophet’s explanation, it became painfully clear: Helpers were essential for making progress in this game.

Players couldn’t access their points directly; the Helper was the middleman. They could grant points or offer them as quest rewards. Usually, they’d exchange points for pre-determined stat boosts, items, or blessings. Some even had custom point shops.

“Even though it’s called a point shop, it’s really just a selection of pre-approved upgrades. My Helper’s inventory sucks,” the Prophet whined, annoyed that his Helper refused to boost his Intelligence stat.

As I processed everything, I felt the blood drain from my face.

…We’re basically NPCs in an idle clicker game.

The ‘Cult Leader unit’ passively generates points, and the player decides how to allocate them. With enough points, they can issue quests to make the Cult Leader perform specific actions.

But depending on the Cult Leader’s personality, they might refuse certain questlines.

When the player is offline, the AI Helper automatically allocates points based on preset algorithms and the player’s past choices.

But here, the real players are the Othergods, and we’re just their playable units.

The Cult Leader can only be developed according to the whims of the player. No option to decline rewards or respec your build…

…Maybe not having a Helper is actually a blessing in disguise?

The Prophet’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “You seriously don’t have a Helper?”

“Do you think I’d have kept farming if I did?”

“Then why bother coming to the Cathedral in the first place?”

“Because I was anxious.”

The Prophet’s expression turned incredulous. “…You crawled into a den of elite Apostles because you were feeling a little anxious?”

“At the time, I figured the Cathedral was the safest place to be during the apocalypse event. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of whatever chaos was coming when the starry sky opened up.”

“How did you manage to get an audience with the Saint himself?”

“Well, I didn’t want to arouse suspicion by suddenly abandoning my farm and announcing I was going on a pilgrimage. So, I spun a tale for the local bell-ringer – something about having ominous dreams and feeling called to the Capital Church. I thought that would be enough to get me transferred, but the guy went and reported me to the Inquisition. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged to the Cathedral, and surprise! The Saint was waiting for me.”

“…So, what did the Saint say when he saw you?”

“Honestly, not much,” I replied with a shrug. “Whenever I tried to ask him questions, he’d just say ‘Ignorance will protect you,’ and refuse to give me any useful information. But he did hand me a holy relic and told me to call on him if I needed it. At the time, I thought, ‘Wow, the real Church of Order is way more laid-back about heretics than the game version…’”

The Prophet’s eyes narrowed again.

“You’re making this up, aren’t you?”

“If I wanted to mess with you, I’d come up with a more believable story. I’m telling you the truth.”

The Prophet’s frown deepened as he considered my words.

“…Which Othergod did you end up with?” he asked finally.

If I lie, he’ll catch me instantly.

I decided to be honest.

“The Happy God.”

The boy’s eyebrow shot up. “You mean the one with the impossible difficulty setting?”

“That’s the one.”

“Have you ever achieved a successful clear with Happy God?”

“Nope.”

“Then why on earth did you choose that particular Othergod?”

“Why did you choose the Distorted One?” I shot back.

He flinched, caught off guard, and I could see the panic rising in his eyes.

“How did you…?”

“You basically told me, remember? When you mentioned not canceling your distortion.”

“Oh.”

What an idiot.

As I watched his face flush bright red all the way to his ears. I finally understood why the Distorted One had chosen him.

It wasn’t a strategic decision. It was for the lulz.

He seemed like the type who’d be fun to tease.

“…You have no idea what kind of Othergod the Distorted One is, do you?”

“I-I know everything about it, of course!”

“Really? So, you chose the Distorted One knowing exactly how it ends? You’re not worried at all?”

He tried to bluff, but his nervous eyes betrayed him. “What are you talking about? Of course, I knew what I was getting into!”

“You’re lying. You’ve never actually beaten the game with the Distorted One, have you?”

“I-I don’t need advice from someone who picked the ‘HappyHappy’ Othergod!”

“Hey, you know why I chose Happy God? Because I’ve already done everything I could with the other Othergods. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a veteran player.”

“…But in the end, you chickened out and surrendered because you didn’t have the guts to win, right?”

Did this kid just insult me?

Seriously, who in their right mind would still try to clear a game after being dragged into it?

I’m a normal person, okay?

“Anyway, you’re still a newbie, right? How many hours have you logged with the Distorted One?”

“Uh, over 800 hours…”

“…800 hours, and you still haven’t seen the ending?”

“The ending wasn’t my goal.”

“Still, you didn’t even bother checking the wiki or watching some clips?”

“I didn’t.”

Then what the hell were you doing for 800 hours?

Did he just leave the game running in the background while he went AFK or something?

Otherwise, his playtime made absolutely no sense.

The Prophet, clearly anxious, avoided my gaze and mumbled, “Um, what happens at the end of the Distorted One’s story, anyway?”

“Hold on, let’s back up. What side quests were you grinding for 800 hours that prevented you from reaching the ending? Explain that first.”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then I don’t want to spoil the ending for you, either.”

His face immediately crumpled.

I quickly softened my tone.

“Hey, I’m just joking with you. Look, I appreciate your willingness to share your knowledge. When you get out of this mess, I’ll do my best to help you out. But can I ask you a few more questions? After that, I’ll fill you in on the Distorted One’s ending.”

The boy didn’t look pleased, but he eventually nodded, begrudgingly agreeing.

“Fine. Three questions, max. It’s not like we have unlimited time here.”

“Alright. First question: what happens if you surrender to the Order? Do you just lose your mind or something?”

“…If you try to surrender, a warning message pops up. If you reach a point where you can’t progress or you’re trapped in an unwinnable situation, you receive a ‘Game Over’ notification.”

Game Over?

“If you hit that point, you lose all sense of self as a player. You’ll still remember the Othergods, the contract you made, and what you’ve done so far, but you’ll forget you were ever a player. You’ll become a raving lunatic, spewing nonsense left and right. Even if someone tries to message you using the chat function, it won’t go through.”

A Game Over, huh…

But something didn’t add up. I had surrendered before, and I never saw that warning message. The Saint had even pulled out the Holy Sword of Condemnation right in front of me, and nothing had happened.

Maybe it’s because I’m in a unique situation where I’d automatically revive even if I died?

“What exactly triggers a Game Over, anyway? If there’s still a way out, like escaping the Order even after surrendering, does the warning message still pop up?”

“A Game Over happens when all possible paths to making a contract with an Othergod are completely blocked. Like, if a crucial relic gets destroyed, or if the Cult Leader unit gets taken out by an Apostle-level unit, or if the Othergod just flat-out refuses the contract…”

“Othergods can reject the contract? But aren’t they the ones who dragged us into this mess in the first place?”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s a bad idea to piss them off.”

What a load of bullshit.

“So, does that mean you have to blindly follow every command from the Distorted One? Can you really handle that?”

“…Haven’t you already asked more than three questions?”

“I’ve only asked one so far, these are just follow-ups.”

The boy let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, ask your next question.”

What should I ask?

I had so many questions swirling in my head: what was going on with Adelaide, what to expect from the other players, why the Prophet had shown up at the Cathedral…

But somehow, a different question slipped out.

“Has the Helper ever told you how to get back to the real world?”

“……”

“Like, if we clear the game, we can go home or something?”

The Prophet remained silent.

I realized the answer from his silence. “So you don’t know either, huh?”

“No.”

“Do you have any information about the status of our real-world bodies?”

He slowly shook his head.

Of course not. The Othergods wouldn’t give us that information.

And why would they? It was better for morale if we were left to imagine our own ideal homecoming scenarios, clinging to hope.

Because what if someone desperate to return home discovered their real-world body had already died and even had a funeral? They’d lose all hope and choose the Game Over option without a second thought.

If my real body is already dead…

…then I’m just dead.

Let’s not delve into that existential rabbit hole right now.

If it turned out all 16 people who mysteriously died on the same day were playing this same game at the same time, it’d make one hell of a creepypasta.

I wonder what the autopsy reports would reveal.

The boy watched me closely, then spoke up. “Since I couldn’t answer that question… you can change your second question to something else if you want.”

…What’s he playing at?