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

#127Reader Mode

T/N: 2/2

#127

I did my best to keep calm.

If he can use distortion like that, there’s no way I can overpower him by force.

I just need to stall. Buy some time.

If I can keep him occupied long enough, the Saint will show up. And when that happens? This bastard’s getting a Game Over.

Have I gotten enough intel out of him?

Yeah. More than enough.

I know the strategy game nerd got dragged to the Dark Realm too, and he is not exactly on good terms with Insanity.

As for who Insanity really is or what is happening with the other players? I will wring that out of Mr. Strategist later.

Right now, I have to make it believable. He needs to believe I’m ready to kill him.

He’s wavering, stuck between ‘Kill or be killed.’ And if I flinch or show even a hint of fear, he might decide it’d be more fun to kill me instead.

“Fine. This time, stay still. It’s hard to kill you when you keep slipping away with that ability.”

I rummaged through my pocket, keeping my movements slow, casual.

“…You don’t mind if I use tools, right?”

Unless you have overwhelming grip strength, using cloth or rope is more practical for strangling someone.

That’s why professional assassins always carry wire.

“Of course!”

“Good. Gimme a sec. Not like I walk around with murder gear on me all the time.”

I pulled a tangled mess of thread from my pocket, my fingers working to smooth out the knots. The plan was to braid it into something strong enough to pass for rope.

“Why do you have thread on you?”

“It’s for the orphanage. I use it to play with the kids, cat’s cradle, friendship bracelets, that sort of thing.”

“Oh! I love that!”

What the hell is there to love?

The boy’s grin stretched wide, pure delight dancing across his face.

“Killing someone with something meant for kids’ games? I love the irony. It has this whole first-timer vibe, like you’ve never done it before, maybe never even thought about it. There’s something innocent about that. Refreshing, even. So, is this your first time?”

The sheer absurdity of the question made my fingers slip. The knot I was working on unraveled completely.

“…Yeah. I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“Wow, really? Same here! This is my first time too!”

Of course, it was. If he had done this before, he wouldn’t still be standing here. He’d either buried six feet under or burning in hell by now.

“Oh, but…” He sighed softly, as if daydreaming about a vacation he’d never take. “I always imagined there’d be more blood, y’know? Like when someone panics and just keeps stabbing wildly, over and over again. Messy, sure, but there’s something special about it. Strangling’s too clean. The pain doesn’t last long enough.”

He looked at me then, with that strange, eager expression, like a kid confessing his first crush.

“I just… I want my first time to be perfect. You get it, right?”

Get it, my ass.

I pushed down the frustration bubbling up inside me, keeping my face carefully blank. “Sorry, but I don’t have anything on me that’d make it that kind of messy.”

“Oh, no worries! I’ve got just the thing!”

Before I could react, he clamped a hand over his mouth and made the most bizarre sound I’d ever heard—a wet, choking noise somewhere between a cat hacking up a hairball and someone on the verge of vomiting.

What the hell? Is he actually going to puke?

I watched in horrified fascination as he doubled over, shoved his hand down his throat, and pulled out… a dagger.

“Here you go!” he said brightly, as if he’d just offered me a piece of candy.

I gaped at the gleaming blade in his hand, utterly bewildered. “Why on earth would you keep it there? Couldn’t you just wear it on your belt like a normal person?”

“Nah, I’m just visiting the Cathedral. They’re not big on letting folks wander around armed.”

He grinned with obvious pride. “So I used a little distortion to stash it inside. Completely undetectable.”

What is he, a psychotic drug mule?

As unsettling as this whole situation was, I figured it was probably safer to take the dagger myself. Even if I had no intention of using it, having control of the blade seemed wiser than leaving it in his clearly unstable hands.

“Just hand it over.”

The boy was about to hand it over when a new gleam lit his eyes.

“Wait! What if we killed each other at the same time?”

“…What?”

“Yeah! While you’re bleeding out, you could still finish me off! Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

He beamed like he’d just proposed the most brilliant plan in history.

“What are you—” I started, but before I could finish, he lunged at me with a wild slash.

Pure reflex took over. I threw up my arm to block, bracing for the bite of steel. But something invisible deflected the blade with a resounding clang, sending it flying out of his hand and spinning across the floor.

“Ack!”

The boy stumbled backwards, cradling his hand and letting out a pained whimper. His eyes were wide with a mix of shock and frustration.

Did the holy relic just… activate?

He winced, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice had softened to something almost pitiful.

“Can’t you… take off the relic?”

Yeah, like hell that’s going to happen.

“No.”

“I promise I won’t attack again.”

Bullshit.

If he truly meant it, it shouldn’t matter whether I kept the relic on or not.

I took a cautious step back. Then another. Just enough to put some distance between us.

His face drained of color as if I’d just announced his death sentence.

“W-wait! You’re still going to kill me, right?”

“That plan’s off the table.”

“What?”

“Why would I grant the wish of a liar?”

Panic flashed in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry! I won’t try anything, I swear! You can keep the relic on! I won’t even mention it again!”

He scrambled on all fours, snatching the dagger off the floor. His hands shook violently as he held it out to me by the handle, desperation etched into every line of his face.

“Please… just one stab. That’s all. I’ll bleed out and die on my own, I promise!”

“I said no.”

His lips trembled, desperation radiating off him in waves.

“…Then… could you at least frown at me?”

Instead, I smiled. It was a calm, deliberate expression, almost kind in its gentleness.

“Nope.”

His breath caught, disbelief flickering across his face. “N-no way…”

His violet eyes darted frantically, left then right, as if searching for an escape route that didn’t exist. I tracked every flicker of movement, every subtle shift in his gaze, braced for whatever might come next.

We’re at an impasse. Any moment now, his Helper should send him a new quest.

The real danger wasn’t his current state; it was what might follow. If his favorability spiked too high, all logic would fly out the window. Once someone hits that threshold, there’s no middle ground left.

When obsession becomes all-consuming, they only see two possible outcomes: kill the one they love, or die by their hand.

In other words, LoveDEATH mode.

I needed to snap him out of it before he reached that point of no return. Once there, negotiation and escape would both become impossible.

Then his Helper would have no choice but to intervene, forcibly lowering his favorability towards me.

That was the plan. At least, that’s what should have happened.

“…Guess there’s no other way,” the boy muttered.

Without warning, he raised the dagger and plunged it into the back of his own hand.

What the hell?!

I stared, frozen in shock, as crimson droplets bloomed from his skin, trickling down his knuckles and onto the cold floor.

Why would he do that?

Was this some kind of ritual? To trigger a blood-activated seal hidden within this underground library?

Otherwise, it makes no sense…

“Ah, you frowned,” the boy said, his face lighting up with a satisfaction.

“…Why did you do that?”

“Well, I figured the easiest way to make you frown was to show you something frown-worthy! And now… now I get to see more of your frowns!”

Is this punk actually an idiot?

What if he actually bled out from that idiotic stunt?

Wait…

“You mentioned dying and coming back earlier. Is that something you can really do? Can you actually revive yourself?”

For just a fleeting moment, his grin faltered. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

“That’s a secret.”

“Is there even a point in keeping it secret? If I call your name after you die and it shows you’re still here, I’ll know anyway.”

“…Ah.”

“So, you can revive, huh?”

“This—this doesn’t count!” he sputtered. “Fabio figured it out on his own! I didn’t actually say anything!”

“No. The moment you said it was a secret, that was as good as an answer. Thanks for confirming it.”

He flinched, clearly caught off guard.

I stepped closer, studying his expression intently. “You got a quest to commit suicide, didn’t you?”

His violet eyes widened in shock. “…How did you know?”

Just as I thought.

“If you can revive, then suicide becomes a way out, doesn’t it? When there’s no other option, the Helper gives you a quest to escape by dying.”

His lips parted, but he seemed at a loss for words.

“What I really want to know is… why haven’t you killed yourself yet?”

He lowered his gaze. “If I die, my body stays behind. I wouldn’t be able to keep pretending to be Reyes Floren after that…”

He clenched his fists, frustration tightening his voice. “I’ve worked too hard for this. I’ve already lost Andrea, and I don’t have a family anymore. I can’t even see Adelaide. I won’t use that option unless it’s absolutely the last resort.”

I get it now.

This idiot is exactly the type to hoard items in a roguelike game. The kind of player who dies with a bag full of potions because he’s saving them for some ‘perfect moment’ that never comes. ¹T/N: “Roguelike Game” a genre where games share the mechanics of ‘Rogue’, often with permadeath, meaning death can’t be undone.

And yet, he doesn’t realize that this is that moment.

His Helper probably gave him that suicide quest ages ago.

From the second he failed to kill the guy who recognized Reyes’ face, this whole identity became worthless.

But instead of following the Helper’s advice, this brat kept ignoring every warning, blurting out crucial information like some clueless newbie. No doubt his Helper’s patience is wearing thin.

So that’s what this whole mess is. An irritated Helper trying to force a player too stubborn to die into killing himself.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Can’t you stop the bleeding? Use distortion or something.”

“I can.”

“Then do it. If you bleed out, that doesn’t count as me killing you.”

I made sure to frown this time, a deep, deliberate scowl.

The boy blinked, looking dazed for a moment, before nodding obediently and focusing on the wound.

As he tended to the wound, I took the opportunity to ask something that had been nagging at me.

“Hey… why didn’t you ever try to meet Athanas?”

He froze, his hand hovering over the wound.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could’ve gone to the Cathedral any time, right? Athanas was right there. So what held you back?”

I couldn’t help but think of Athanasuki – that madman who was obsessed with Athanas. He wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. He’d have dropped everything, ignored every obstacle, just for a chance to meet his idol.

So how on earth did this guy’s Helper manage to restrain him?

“…Because that’s not the Athanas I know,” he murmured.

“What do you mean by that?”

He paused, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

“Meeting Adelaide… it made me realize something.”

The silence stretched between us before he continued.

“…The child I met wasn’t really Adelaide. She was just… someone who might become her one day.”

That made sense, when I thought about it.

Adelaide was just a baptismal name, an identity she’d only take on if she became the Grey Saintess. Unless something catastrophic happened, like all the Apostles dying and the world order collapsing – Alicia had no reason to ever become Adelaide.

And she shouldn’t have to.

If nothing terrible happens, Alicia will live and die as herself, untouched by that fate. Free from the crushing weight of sainthood.

“Because I took her away, she’s even less likely to become Adelaide now.”

Isn’t that a good thing?

Becoming the Grey Saintess means a lifetime of sacrifice in a ruined world. An existence defined by pain, suffering, and death without reward.

So why did he look so… devastated? Like this was some kind of tragedy?

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’?” he burst out. “I killed Adelaide with my own hands! The Adelaide I love… she’ll never exist. And it’s all because of me!”

…What?

What kind of twisted logic was this?

“Hold on,” I said, trying to make sense of it. “You just said you took her to protect her. So who’s the girl in your house now?”

“That’s Alicia,” he said bitterly. “She’s just… some stranger. Not Adelaide.”

The sheer absurdity of his words hit me like a slap to the face, momentarily short-circuiting my brain.

So, basically, the conclusion he came to after meeting Adelaide was…

“…Athanas isn’t Athanas unless he’s the Heretic Slayer Inquisitor?”

“Exactly!”

This is giving me a damn headache.

“And that’s why I’m waiting. I want to die at the hands of Athanas. The real Athanas. The Heretic Slayer Inquisitor. Not just some random holy knight.”

Where do I even begin with this nonsense?

I crossed my arms, trying to find a logical argument. “But Athanas only becomes the Heretic Slayer after the Plague God basically devours the world, right? What if the Plague God’s player has already been eliminated? Then you’ll never meet that version of Athanas.”

“That’s fine! No matter which Othergod destroys the world, Athanas still becomes the Heretic Slayer.”

“So the world has to end just so you can meet him?”

“Of course! If it doesn’t, I’ll never meet the real Athanas.”

The conviction in his eyes was suffocating. He truly believed this madness.

“…Did you seriously come up with that on your own?”

In his twisted logic, the only way to meet the ‘true’ Athanas was for the world to crumble under an Othergod’s power.

What kind of insanity is this?

This was even more absurd than destroying the entire Order to avenge a lost lover.

“Of course…”

I shook my head firmly. “That’s not really your wish. It’s the Distorted One’s desire, planted in your mind and twisted to suit Its purposes.”

His violet eyes seemed to lose focus, flickering as if he was reading an invisible message.

Looks like his Helper just sent him something.

“What do you actually know about Athanas? The real Athanas, I mean. Do you even know if he truly existed? You’ve only experienced him through the game. Everything you think you know comes from what the developers created – their code, their scripts, their designs. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His mouth opened, ready to argue, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“How can you be certain the game’s setting reflects reality? What if the developers just cobbled together bits and pieces of history to create a character who never really existed? Have you considered that the Heretic Slayer Athanas might be nothing more than a made-up legend?”

I saw his jaw clench, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. But it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“…But Athanas really did kill the Plague God’s cult leader. That part, at least, is true.”

“Alright, let’s say that’s true. Let’s assume the Heretic Slayer really existed. But Adelaide’s soul belongs to the Distorted One now, doesn’t it? So which Athanas are you actually waiting for?”

I took a step closer, my voice growing more intense. “Are you expecting the perfect hero who effortlessly wiped out the cults? Or the man who wakes up night after night, haunted by nightmares of dying like a fool? Which version do you believe is the real Athanas?”

He hesitated, stumbling over his words. “I…”

I pressed my advantage. “See? You can’t tell. You have no way of knowing what’s real, because you never knew the real Athanas to begin with.”

His pupils suddenly contracted to narrow slits, and his expression went eerily blank. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I’d just stumbled onto dangerous ground.

Great. I just stepped on a landmine.

But it was too late to back down now.

The key is confidence. Never show doubt.

The moment you second-guess yourself and say, “What I just said was wrong,” everything falls apart. The argument dies, and you lose any chance of persuading them.

I straightened my posture and raised my voice, doubling down on my point. “Exactly! You don’t know. That’s precisely why you’re still here, because you’re uncertain.”

He blinked slowly, as if processing my words piece by piece. “…You’re saying I don’t really know him.”

“Exactly. And if you truly believed the only real Athanas was the Heretic Slayer, you wouldn’t have played Conclude.”

If all he wanted was to stare at Athanas, there was a much simpler way.

“You could’ve just stuck with Heretic Slayer. Athanas is the main character there, front and center for every single one of its 1,000 hours of gameplay. But in Conclude? There’s no guarantee you’ll ever even meet him. For all you know, he could’ve died in the first five minutes of the story.”

“Think about it. Out of the 800 hours you’ve spent playing Conclude — how much actually involved Athanas? Five? Maybe less?”

So why bother with Conclude at all?

“You wanted to learn more about Athanas, didn’t you?”

Not just the Athanas from Heretic Slayer, but every possible version of him.

A guy who plays a strategy game he sucks at, all just to catch a glimpse of those possibilities. Doesn’t that suggest he’s curious? Not just about the Athanas he has imagined, but about who Athanas really is now?

“That’s the real contradiction, isn’t it? If you truly believed your perfect Athanas existed—some flawless, untouchable version—and thought every interaction might ruin that ideal… you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have replayed Conclude over and over. You’d have found some perfect playthrough video and looped it forever.”

But Athanasuki didn’t do that.

Because that was never what he really wanted.

“Don’t let that Helper, or anyone else, jerk you around. Don’t stop thinking. Keep questioning what’s real, all the way to the bitter end. Figure out what it is you really want before you lose sight of it for good.”

His violet irises trembled, as if the foundation of everything he’d believed was crumbling right in front of him.

“If you stop thinking, you lose. Got it?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of the moment sinking in.

“…Yes.”

[SYSTEM: ‘アタナスあなたがすきです (Athanas… I love you)’ has been deeply moved by your words!]

[SYSTEM: A new chapter has been added to the achievement of ‘Miracle of the Silver Tongue’]

[SYSTEM: Your rank has slightly increased.]