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

#017Reader Mode

T/N: Got an Othergod goal set up on my Kofi. Feel free to check it out!

#017

The journey felt like an eternity, but when I thought of it as the last chapter of my life, time seemed to fly by.

During those endless days, I rode an emotional rollercoaster through the 6 stages of grief.

1. Denial

They wouldn’t really kill me, right? I mean, even a heretic inquisitor blessed by a heretic god is still breathing!

2. Anger

Hapenesus! Mother Aelusia!! Screw you both! I’ll curse you with my last breath, you f*cking bastards! Dumping me in such a sh*tty place!

3. Bargaining

Maybe if I prove myself useful, they’ll let me live? Nasir uses heretical powers for the inquisition. Maybe my blessing could help… Ugh, who am I kidding. Damn!

4. Depression

Why did I waste my life on this stupid game? Why didn’t I quit when I kept saying I would? Is this karma biting me in the a*s?

5. Acceptance

Well, I already lost the game so might as well skip to the end credits. Bring on the sweet release of death!

6. Optimism

You know what? Maybe dying now is the best possible outcome. Isn’t the guy who unexpectedly dies right before the apocalypse the real winner?

…After that wild ride of feels, I finally found some inner peace.

Expect nothing and you can’t be let down, right?

Let’s say by some miracle I survive without anyone finding out about my connection to an Othergod.

Then the Order, clueless to the truth, gets destroyed by Othergod contractors, leaving only a totally bleak future.

Face the chopping block today or endure an agonizing death after watching the world end in a few years? The first option doesn’t sound half bad.

“There’s the Cathedral’s bell tower.”

Wow, it’s exactly like what I saw in Heretic Slayer.

In the game, it was more battle-scarred, splashed with gore, but otherwise, it’s almost identical.

Feels like I just jumped into a VR world.

“How does it compare to the bell tower from your dream?” Nasir asked.

“… It’s so overwhelming in person that I can’t even remember what the dream was like.”

“Is that so? Well, it was winter in the dream… Perhaps the memory will return come winter.”

He’s just making stuff up now.

I was just saying whatever, but to Nasir, it became some profound revelation from a powerful deity in hiding.

Maybe if I make up more cryptic crap, they’ll keep me alive until they decipher my dream revelation?

The idea tempted me for a second, but I quickly shut it down.

Flimsy lies get exposed fast.

Plus, the more I think about ways to survive, the more I make myself miserable.

Extreme doormat syndrome can also tank your favorability rating. Decide to live as a human welcome mat and people tend to like you less…

In the game, characters who groveled for mercy, begging, “Spare me, I’ll do anything!” often met a more gruesome end at my hands.

Guess I could just claim the winter bell tower dream was a lie because I wanted to travel and hope they off me before Christmas.

When the starry sky cracks open on Christmas Day, the Concluders will rise again as Apostles, plunging Order into chaos.

Maybe I should beg for a quick death before then to dodge a painful death.

That impending doom was also why I had zero motivation to stay alive.

Once the Concluders are reborn, the Order’s atmosphere will turn grim. Living as someone blessed by some unknown evil god won’t be easy.

Nasir paused at the doorway, a note of reverence in his voice as he announced, “This is the commander’s room.” He gave three sharp knocks, and his deep voice carried an air of respect as he stated, “Nasir, reporting, Commander.”

A curt reply echoed from within, “… Enter.”

As we pushed open the door, we were greeted by a striking figure—a middle-aged woman with short black hair, her eyes intently focused on sharpening a sword. An aura of commanding presence surrounded her, demanding attention.

Her silver-gray eyes, sharp as the blade she held, fixed on me as she asked, “You must be Fabio?”

“Yes.”

Commander Casimir’s intense gaze did not waver, and with a slight tilt of her head, she indicated a seat across from her. As Nasir left, closing the door behind him, my anxiety shot through the roof.

When one becomes a commander, they usually don’t need to sharpen their own sword…

Could she be handling that blade personally in her office to show she’s ready to slit someone’s throat on the spot if they piss her off?

“I have a few questions for you,” she said, her voice crisp and authoritative.

If I give the wrong answers, I bet she’ll bury me right here.

“First,” she began, “tell me your thoughts on this: Is it blasphemous to change the rules ‘established’ by Roklem?”

Is this an interrogation or a pop quiz?

Since Antonio taught me, is she testing my knowledge of the doctrine?

But I haven’t learned enough to express an opinion on such controversial topics. Most of what I learned was just reading the Holy Text…

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” I said cautiously. “Are you asking me to recite the doctrine, or do you want my personal opinion about it?”

“Were you taught about the ‘established’ rules?”

I shook my head. “No. Not specifically. So if I say something that doesn’t make sense or is wrong, I hope you’ll understand it’s due to my lack of education.”

“Why should I?”

…Huh?

Blindsided, I froze.

“Explain to me,” she continued, “why you think I, as the commander, should be understanding of your ignorance.”

What’s with the high-pressure interview vibes?

Though I was flabbergasted, I responded diligently.

“…Roklem decreed that sins committed unknowingly are less severe than those committed on purpose. If the person had known it was a sin, they wouldn’t have committed it. As followers of Roklem, shouldn’t we think the same way? If my answer is wrong, it’s an unintentional mistake stemming from ignorance, so that’s why I hope you’ll be understanding.”

Commander Casimir’s expression remained unreadable. “You’re right that ignorance may be more forgivable than deliberate wrongdoing, but it is not without consequence. Explain to me why your ignorance shouldn’t be considered a mistake in and of itself.”

Is she serious?

I’m not given a chance to learn, but she still roasts me for not knowing enough?

In a time before mandatory education, isn’t that a bit unfair?

“…That’s true,” I went on. “If I had the chance to learn and chose not to, that would be a mistake. However, I am here, willing to learn and grow. Shouldn’t my willingness to seek knowledge count for something?”

Or Maybe you should be testing me after I’ve had a chance to learn more.

Casimir’s eyes narrowed at my response. “You’re quite eloquent,” she observed.

Is she being sarcastic?

Did she expect me to stumble over my words?

What would she gain from that?

Does she get off on watching people squirm? Is she some kind of sadist?

“Very well,” she said, “Answer my previous question.”

“Could I have a moment to collect my thoughts?”

Is it blasphemy to change the law that Roklem established?

Feels like a question that would take hours to tackle on a written exam.

Considering that Roklem is the God of Order, this is definitely a touchy subject.

No doubt countless theologians have probably written dense arguments, rebuttals, and further debates on this.

But for someone like me, unfamiliar with such discussions, I can only fall back on common sense to cobble together an answer.

“…How long do you need?” Casimir urged.

“Oh, I just finished thinking it through.”

No point in overthinking when you don’t know jack.

After all, what can you expect from an uneducated serf?

She’s probably just checking if I have the right mindset to learn. If you have to pick between someone who tries to answer, even badly, and someone who stays silent, the first one would be the better grad school pick, right?

In situations like this, the intention and attitude behind the answer matters more than the content itself.

“In my opinion… it’s not blasphemy,” I declared.

“Why?”

“Because the world is constantly changing. As the world evolves, it’s only natural for the rules governing it to change as well.”

“So, are you implying that Roklem established an imperfect rule?”

Oh, damn.

Wasn’t she just assessing my attitude?

Why the sudden sharp turn? Does she believe a peasant like me can handle such a curveball?

If I agree, my faith will be called into question…

Time to counter with a question!

“What defines an imperfect rule, and what makes a rule perfect? Is a rule considered perfect only if it remains unchanging and always correct?”

“So, you believe a rule that needs to change isn’t imperfect?”

“Yes.”

Time to challenge the premise that tweaking a god-given rule somehow taints its divinity!

“I believe a rule that doesn’t adapt to changing circumstances is a dead rule.”

“…Dead, you say,” Casimir repeated, her gaze boring into me with renewed intensity.

“Rules and regulations are just tools, ultimately,” I continued. “Imagine you need to cross a river to reach a neighboring village. If that’s the quickest route, everyone will get used to doing it and it will become the accepted way. But then suppose that river dries up and crossing is no longer possible. If someone tries to dig a new river, people would think they’d lost their mind. Failing to change the law as the world evolves is just as foolish as trying to resurrect a dried-up riverbed.”

Wow, I’m pretty proud of that analogy.

Talmud-worthy, if I do say so myself.¹T/N: The “Talmud” is a central text of Rabbinic Judaism. The mention here is to emphasize the depth or wisdom of the analogy, suggesting it’s profound enough to be in such a respected text.

But Casimir’s icy stare didn’t budge, even though I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.

“So you’re implying that rules created without foresight by those incapable of anticipating change inevitably become obsolete over time. Are you suggesting that Roklem, the God of Order, established rules lacking such foresight?”

She just won’t let up, will she?

“…It’s precisely because of our own shortcomings that we change the rules.”

“Explain.”

“Would it make any sense to describe the difference between the summer and winter sun to a mayfly? For a insect that only lives for a single day, today’s sun is all that matters.”²T/N: Mayflies are insects known for their very short lifespan, often just 24 hours. The analogy here is used to emphasize the fleeting nature of life and the limited perspective one might have within such a short timeframe.

“If we are such ignorant, misguided beings, what gives us the right to alter the rules?”

“Ah, but if that short-lived being can inherit the wisdom of those before it, it can understand the changing world and know both summer and winter. We have language and writing, so while we may be foolish, we don’t have to repeat past mistakes.”

“…Then why should that individual wait to gain experience? Why not simply provide it with the perfect rule for every circumstance?” she argued.

“Only those who reflect deeply gain wisdom. If the Lord wanted mindless, obedient followers, he would’ve created them,” I countered.

“So you’re claiming Roklem was waiting for us to recognize on our own that his rule no longer applies, and petition him to amend it?”

“If he granted that request, then yes, I believe so.”

Abruptly, Casimir’s face twisted with a blend of anger and anguish.

Damn, did I accidentally step on a landmine? What triggered that reaction?

Was it my audacity to speculate about the intentions of their god?

“Then why did he punish the one who made that request? If he had been waiting for someone like that, shouldn’t he have rewarded them rather than giving out the severest punishment and besmirching their reputation?” she demanded.

Could she be referring to an actual incident?