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

#178Reader Mode

#178 

Looking at the scene playing out in front of me, I had to admit it was completely ridiculous. 

The paper crane in my hand was going absolutely nuts—thrashing around like some kind of pissed-off breakdancer, its shabby wings shaking with what I could only describe as pure, concentrated rage. 

[Just kill me already! I’d rather die than endure this humiliation!] 

“Huh. So you’re basically saying you can’t die on your own?” 

The crane froze mid-flutter, as if I’d slapped it. Then it went right back to flapping around, somehow even angrier than before. 

At least I don’t have to worry about this thing rage-quitting and pulling the plug on our conversation. 

I settled back and watched the little origami Helper work itself up into an absolute fit. “You know, I’ve been curious about something.” 

[I will tell you nothing, you venomous snake!] 

“What’s with the obsession with brain-dead rush tactics? I thought you were supposed to be the God of War, not the god of… what, glorified brawling?”  

Because let’s be real—actual warfare, the kind that changed the course of history, looked nothing like whatever fantasy this guy was living in. Take World War II: you had complex strategies, coordinated operations across multiple fronts, intelligence networks that stretched around the globe.  

Meanwhile, this deity was stuck in some romanticized medieval daydream where apparently the pinnacle of military genius was two guys whaling on each other while everyone else watched.  

The God of Plague at least had their moment during the Black Death. But this? This was just sad.  

Come on, even actual medieval warfare took more brainpower than this. 

“But isn’t strategy the heart of warfare?” I kept pushing. “One warrior, no matter how skilled, can’t win an entire war by themselves. But a single poor decision from a strategist? That can send tens of thousands of trained warriors to pointless deaths. So why do you dismiss strategy entirely?” 

[Utterly absurd. To ask such a stupid question.] 

Hearing this from the actual God of War is really starting to piss me off.   

The paper crane’s movements shifted, becoming sharper, almost predatory.  

[You clearly have no understanding of War’s true nature. That’s precisely why, when you served under me, you resorted to those… shameless tactics. Bloodless victories, if you can even call them victories. You incited internal conflicts to spark civil wars. You whispered in the ears of the oppressed until they opened their gates willingly. Then you had the audacity to march through streets lined with cheering crowds who actually welcomed your rule.]  

The crane stilled for a moment, and I could practically feel the contempt rolling off this little piece of paper. 

[Do you honestly think that qualifies as war?] 

“What else would you call it?” 

[Ignorant fool!]  

The crane was vibrating with fury now.   

[That is NOT war!]    

He sounds like some stubborn old traditionalist who can’t let go of how things used to be.  

“Look, war’s about territorial expansion, right? Every warlord out there dreams of unifying the world under their banner. Well, I achieved that unification. What else was I supposed to do after that?” 

[WAR!] the crane bellowed.  

…Did this idiot seriously just yell “war” like it’s some kind of rallying cry?   

[What you did was eliminate war, not wage it! The cult you led—your leader called himself ‘the One Who Ends War.’ To serve the God of War while actively trying to end all warfare? That’s a fundamental contradiction!]  

“It was more like a mission statement,” I said, shrugging. “A promise that I’d unify the continent before I died.”   

[Continental unification is acceptable! But why in all the hells did you waste time on setting up governments while conquering? Why bother with domestic policy at all?]   

“Because… that’s how you maintain an empire. Otherwise, the moment you die, your heirs start killing each other apart in succession wars and everything falls apart.” 

[Exactly! Then war returns! Glorious war where former allies turn their blades on each other!] 

I frowned at the thing. So basically he hates it when wars eventually end and people get to live in peace? 

[I have been betrayed time and time again! Conquering monarchs—all of them cunning, all of them shameless. The moment they acquire enough territory to satisfy their ambitions, they cast me aside for other gods. But the worst, the absolute worst, are those who dare to pervert my very essence. ‘The God of War’s true face is the God of Peace!’ they proclaim. ‘We fought to eliminate war itself, to secure everlasting peace!’ Those bastards and their sanctimonious bullshit! How dare they? HOW DARE THEY?] 

The crane’s paper body trembled with fury.  

“Ever thought about just… going with the flow? Maybe rebrand yourself as the god of peace?”  

[I would rather fade into oblivion than be worshipped by those disgusting creatures who renamed the river that once ran red with enemy blood as my ‘nourishing breasts.’ Do you know what they did during ceremonies? They’d grope a statue’s crotch while babbling about fertility blessings!] 

I blinked. “That’s, uh… did that actually happen to you?”    

[I never endured such degradation! I am War. What is not War is not Me. Whatever went through that humiliation was something else entirely!] 

Right. Sure. Definitely seems like that left some trauma. 

Based on how hard he’s trying to convince me it wasn’t him, anyway.  

[Those who forget their true nature die, even gods. No, especially gods. Lesser beings can stumble through existence without understanding what they are, but not us. When you eventually shed your mortal flesh, you’ll understand this truth firsthand.] 

So it’s not just being obsessed with their concept for fun. For gods, it’s literally life or death. Lose your core identity, and you stop existing. That’s pretty intense. 

“So what you’re telling me is that mindlessly charging-in with zero tactical planning somehow represents your truest essence?” 

[Every word from your mouth is an insult. When the starry sky cracks open, I will rip your limbs from your body and use your hollowed bones as war horns. Anyone who hears about your pathetic existence from outside the castle walls will tear their own ears off rather than listen.]   

Wow, someone’s feelings were definitely hurt by what I said, huh. 

[I don’t despise strategy itself.] the crane admitted after a moment, its voice dropping to something that almost sounded reasonable. [I despise the tribe who call themselves strategists.] 

“Meaning?” 

[Strategists rarely believe in gods. To them, victory is simply a matter of arranging the proper conditions. Even a sudden storm isn’t divine intervention, it’s merely another tool for whoever can better read the weather patterns. Oh, they’ll perform sacrifices to heaven, certainly, but while they go through the motions, they’re thinking it’s all farce for the ignorant masses. They calculate that such displays boost morale and improve success rates, so they make their offerings accordingly. Answer me, how could I possibly cherish such a faithless tribe?] 

“But if they win their wars—” 

[Ha!] The crane cut me off with an arrogant laugh. [Even after all this, you still don’t understand. You still think you’re human, don’t you? Let me explain it in terms you might appreciate. You cultivate yeast to produce alcohol. You carefully control the temperature, measure the sugar, all to get your desired product. But what do you do when that yeast starts making methanol instead? What would you do with it?]   

…Yeast, seriously?  

Did he just compare humans who produce faith to yeast in a brewing tank? 

[You kill it all!] the crane went on without waiting for me to answer. [No, killing it isn’t enough. To keep it from contaminating new batches, you must destroy every spore, every trace, every record of its existence. I require yeast that reliably produces alcohol. When something appears that creates the wrong product, it must be swiftly eradicated. Simply accumulating believers isn’t everything! Accept anything and everyone like you do, fail to maintain proper standards, and instead of yeast, you’ll have mold. Soon you’ll produce nothing but worthless sludge. I can see your future clearly! You’ll be drinking methanol until you go blind!] 

“So what you’re really after is a world with no peace at all. A world locked in eternal warfare?” 

[Yes.]  

The crane’s paper body seemed to quiver with satisfaction. 

[Blood must drown in blood. Somewhere out there, I need a land that doesn’t worship War specifically to ‘end’ war. It doesn’t matter what names they call their war gods. Every battle fought is mine in the end. In such a place, I would be worshipped forever!] 

“What if war just… stops completely? Would you die?” 

[Hmph.] The crane rustled dismissively. [I won’t disappear unless the concept of war itself vanishes from every universe that exists. Besides, when the Starry Sky finally opens, the ‘War’ you encounter won’t even be my true form. Would you show your whole body when talking to microorganisms? When a single drop of your spit contains more space than their entire world?]  

He’s really leaning into these microorganism comparisons today. Weirdly scientific for someone so stuck in the past.   

“Why not just become the god of ants then? They’re constantly at war. And before you get all offended, I’m actually curious.” 

[Do you think ants believe in gods? Do they pray before battle? Offer tribute after victory? Creatures without souls generate no Faith Points whatsoever.] 

“What about simulated warfare? Like gladiator fights, competitive sports?” 

[Could you sustain yourself on the imaginary soup children serve at their tea parties?] 

“Alright, hypothetical question,” I said. “What would you pick: A thousand years of peaceful empire built through bloodless victories, or a last stand where the losers refuse to surrender and kill themselves instead?” 

[The latter, obviously.] 

Yeah, we’re absolutely not compatible. 

Just having that fragment in my mouth earlier had made me feel sick. If I actually tried to eat something like this, I’d definitely end up puking my guts out. 

“You know, you’re being surprisingly cooperative with all these answers. Earlier you were shaking with rage, swearing you’d tell me nothing.” 

[Kuh… that’s because you…] 

“Because I what? But more importantly, you keep using these analogies that don’t really fit your character. I was expecting more classical references from the ancient war god. Yeast fermentation? Where’d you even pick that up? I mean, sure, the God of War probably likes good booze, but I can’t see you caring about how it’s made.”    

[That’s your fault too! You swallowed me and spat me back out!] 

“How does that have anything to do with this?” 

[Gods only use analogies because you mortals can’t comprehend divine language. I have to cobble together whatever pathetic words your limited vocabulary provides. Ever since you ripped me from that vessel, I’m restricted to the language you understand! If my word choices offend you, take it up with your own Wernicke’s area!] 

“…So basically you’ve become my Servant?” 

[Absolutely not!] The crane trembled with indignation. [I have not submitted to you!] 

So if I can make him submit, he’ll have to obey me? 

I reached over and gave the paper crane’s wings an experimental tug. The little God of War’s Helper seemed more annoyed than hurt, like a cat getting petted the wrong way. 

[This pathetic attempt at humiliation will not break me!] 

Maybe I should’ve trapped him in something living instead. Considering his whole trauma about being turned into a fertility god, sticking him inside a pregnant mouse might be some particularly nasty psychological warfare… 

No, that was too mean. The poor mouse didn’t deserve that. 

This asshole, though? Totally fair game. 

Still, it looked like he couldn’t actually feel pain unless he was in living tissue. Though he definitely didn’t like contact with other divine power—that was pretty obvious from how he’d reacted earlier.  

I chewed on the paper crane’s head absentmindedly while thinking about how to get this Helper to completely give in.  

[T-this doesn’t bother me at all!] he insisted, though his voice wavered strangely. [Keep going if you dare!] 

Something in his tone made me pause. Wait, is he actually getting something out of this? 

Could he be siphoning off little bits of divine power through the contact? When I’d played as the God of War, there was a trait called ‘Enduring Hardships for Revenge’ that accumulated faith points based on how much humiliation you endured… 

“Fabio! Me too! Me too!” Callister suddenly burst out. “Please bite me too!” 

“This has got to be the pettiest divine war I’ve ever seen,” Pandemonium muttered. “This is how gods fight? By chewing on paper crafts?”  

“Yeah? Coming from the guy who let this crappy paper crane boss him around. Got any excuse for that?”  

[I am not a paper crane!]  

“Oh? So what are you then?”  

[I am—] 

“Don’t you dare say the mighty God of War’s name.” I grabbed his wings and pulled them apart, laying on the sarcasm thick. “War? This? Where’s the war in any of this? Hell, I wouldn’t even call this a fight. At least a paper frog could compete in a jumping contest. What can you do? Vibrate angrily?” 

[Kuh…. T-this vessel is something you forced me into just to humiliate me! It doesn’t represent my true nature!]  

“That’s amazing. Even reduced to this, you still think you’re a piece of War?” I laughed. “You’re delusional. The real God of War beyond the stars would take one look at you and say, ‘Never seen that thing in my life,’ before disowning you completely.” 

[Your tongue is a saw-toothed blade. You cruel thing, always so eager to tear flesh! Every wound you inflict will return to haunt you!] 

“What’s this? Did my words actually sting?” I looked at the shaking paper thing with fake concern. “Weren’t you the one saying gods die when they forget what they are? Look at yourself—barely divine, no real body at all. You know what comes next, right? The second you stop believing you’re War, you’ll just be a limp piece of paper, dying the most pathetic death possible.” 

I stopped for a second, thinking it over. 

“Actually, ‘death’ sounds too dignified. Let’s go with reincarnation. You’ll come back as the God of Trembling Paper Cranes. Just like when you turned into that benevolent Fertility God, letting all those chubby babies suck on your swollen breasts.” 

[I told you that wasn’t me!] 

“You know, the more I think about this, the less it makes sense.” I tilted my head, considering. “Why can’t the God of Fertility also be the God of War? All those babies grow up to be warriors eventually. Population is basically the ultimate military resource. By that logic, the God of Fertility would make a great God of War God. It’s definitely better than whatever you are right now.” 

[Y-you twisted sophist! If I’m not War, then what am I?!] 

He’s basically asking for it. Setting yourself up for defeat so easily… 

I reached over and gave the paper crane’s head a patronizing little pat.  

“What are you? Is that really what you’re asking? Well, since I’m the one who made this form, I guess I should give you a proper name.” I smiled. “From now on, you’re ‘Trembly.’ A cute little paper crane whose only skill is shaking just like you’re doing now. That’s your entire identity. Hi there, Trembly. Your only purpose is to tremble whenever I talk, keeping me nice and entertained.” 

[No! No! NOOOOO!] 

The newly named Trembly descended into a complete meltdown, thrashing and screaming bloody murder like the world was ending. 

Crap, if he actually dies on me, that’s going to be troublesome. 

I needed the God of War’s Helper, not some shaking paper mascot. 

“No? Then explain to me how you’re planning to stay as ‘War’ while you’re stuck as a paper crane?” 

[I still command the Servants of War…] 

“And you think I’ll allow that?”  

The crane went still, its paper body drooping. [Those defeated in war must die in shame. That too is warfare. I accept my death. At least I’ll close my eyes still believing I am War.] 

“You think I’d let you off that easy? You can’t even kill yourself in this form.”   

His wings gave this helpless little shudder.   

[The moment I stop believing I’m War, I cease to exist. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To make me unable to see myself as War anymore. You’ll gain considerable status for destroying me with words alone.] 

“Giving up already?” I clicked my tongue, disappointed. “And you’re supposed to be a fragment of the War God? Come on, oh mighty Helper, raise that intelligence of yours. There’s still a way to win this war, but here you are surrendering. Aren’t you ashamed?” 

[What twisted logic are you spewing now?] 

“You’ve got the ‘Enduring Hardships for Revenge’ trait, don’t you? Even if you don’t, you could buy it from the shop whenever you want.” I leaned in closer to the shaking crane. “With that trait, every insult I throw at you turns into faith points. Enduring humiliation while building up strength for your eventual victory… now that’s real warfare. As long as you’re dreaming about getting revenge on me, you’re still ‘War’ no matter what crap I give you. Hell, even this pathetic form becomes a tactical move to maximize your point gain.” 

[…So? What do you hope to gain by manipulating me with that silver tongue of yours?] 

Oh, so this idiot can be suspicious after all. 

“I don’t know enough about too many things,” I said plainly. “What essence really is. How gods die. Why beings as powerful as Othergods bother playing games with insignificant creatures. I need answers. For that to work, you can’t just be a paper crane—you have to stay a fragment and representative of an Othergod. Only then will your information have any value.” 

[Absurd. You think I’ll dance to your tune?] 

“I don’t think you’re dumb enough to throw away your only chance at winning just because you don’t like taking advice.” 

[And once I’ve served your purpose, you’ll devour me whole. I know all about your bizarre and vicious methods.] 

“That’s funny.” I laughed. “Even if you begged me to, I wouldn’t eat something as bland as you. Don’t like hearing that? Fine. Stay a paper crane, Trembly. Just admit it—you became the God of War’s Helper because you secretly get off on this treatment. Think about it: endless war means as many losses as wins, which makes you the God of Losing too. Let’s be honest, ‘defeat’ fits you way better than ‘war.’ What you really want is to be humiliated like a captured prisoner. You want degrading, miserable treatment.” 

I looked down at Trembly with a knowing smile. 

“But every time I won a war, even the losers ended up happy, and that killed your fun, didn’t it? Sorry I missed that particular fetish of yours. When I write new scriptures, I’ll be sure to mention how our dear Trembly loves being stepped on. In my kingdom, every dog toy will be a paper crane. You’ll get chewed, torn apart, stomped on, and soaked in dog piss every day. Getting all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it, aren’t you?”   

A sharper metallic smell came off the crane, that unmistakable scent of rusty blood. 

The bastard had actually gone and bought the trait.  

I chuckled and went back to chewing on the paper thing.  

“You know, you must really like this treatment. Why else would you be threatening to do the same thing to me? Classic ‘treat others how you want to be treated,’ right?” 

[I cannot bear this humiliation any longer! Burn me now! End this!] 

“Not very convincing.” I talked around the paper in my mouth. “Especially when you’ve got ‘Enduring Hardships for Revenge’ running. You don’t actually want to die at all, do you? That’s cute.”  

The crane shook like crazy between my teeth.  

“Smart choice, though. Can’t exactly get revenge if you’re dead.” I let him drop from my mouth for a second. “Keep racking up points like this, and maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll have me on my knees begging for mercy.” 

[No! The first thing I’ll do is tear out that poisonous tongue of yours!] 

Already getting into the details of his revenge fantasy. What a funny little bastard. 

Of course, taking my advice was also incidentally boosting my divine rank.  

Right on time, the notifications popped up: 

[SYSTEM: ‘Trembly’ (God of War’s Helper) has been deeply moved by your words!] 

[SYSTEM: Achievement update! A new chapter has been added to ‘Miracle of the Silver Tongue.’]  

[SYSTEM: Your rank has increased slightly.] 

…Seriously? He’s officially Trembly now?