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

#152Reader Mode

#152

Adna had already smashed my door down with an axe once before, so the second the knocking started again, I rushed to open it. Better that than hearing it turn into splintering wood.

“Apostle Adna!” I said, letting out a breath when I saw her empty hands. “What brings you here?”

Not that she needs a weapon.

The memory of her training ground was still seared into my mind—her fist hadn’t even made contact, yet the shockwave alone had cratered the ground beneath her. Just thinking about it sent an electric shiver down my spine.

Her silver-blue eyes assessed me coolly before shifting to the figure behind me.

“A maggot?” she asked.

…A maggot?

“Oh, greetings great Fifth Apostle of Order. I am Callister.” Grister’s voice behind me sounded perfectly polite.

“Ah. The Research Director’s ‘equipment.’” Adna’s voice remained emotionless, but somehow she made the word equipment sound like something disdainful.

He nodded. “Yes, that is correct.”

“And why is this equipment in your room?”

“I was having an academic discussion with Fabio—”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Grister’s mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. Adna had stolen his voice. Her face stayed completely blank, but the silence felt heavier than stone.

“Listening to an explanation from equipment… how absurd.” she said mildly, as if just thinking out loud. “That’s like holding a sword accountable for wounding someone.”

“A-Adna…” My mouth went dry, a knot of dread forming in my stomach.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to interrogate you, Fabio. I know you’re not at fault. I’ll demand an explanation from the person who should actually take responsibility.”

Is she planning to confront the Research Director?

Cold sweat trickled down my back as I imagined that confrontation. Right now, in the Director’s lab…

No. I can’t let that happen!

“Apostle Adna, before you go, may I ask why were you looking for me?” I blurted out, desperate for anything to delay her. I couldn’t let her storm in there. Reyes definitely didn’t deserve a Game Over—not after basically signing himself into a slavery contract just to hunt down clues about House Lizard.

“The Holy Maiden has summoned you.”

“The Saint? Why…?”

“He said you made a request.”

A request?

What did I ask for…?

My brain raced through recent memories. The last time I’d seen the Saint was because of Reyes. He had shown up with all the terrifying dramatic flair of a final boss—only to shrug it off like no big deal and leave just as smoothly. Total anticlimax.

But before he left, he had asked if I wanted anything. And I had… oh.

…Did I ask him to tell me about Perpetua?

That information didn’t even matter anymore. But if it would keep Adna away from the lab, I’d run with it.

I brightened instantly, throwing on my most excited smile. “Really? Finally!“ I exclaimed, with fake enthusiasm so convincing it should’ve won an award.

Then, in a moment of pure recklessness, I grabbed Adna’s wrist. “You came all this way just to tell me? Wow, thank you!”

She didn’t immediately break my arm off. Good sign.

“…I just came because I had some free time.”

“Still, you chose to spend that time on me.” I needed to keep her distracted, keep her thinking about anything except that lab and whatever was happening inside.

Just keep talking. Keep her here.

Adna stood perfectly still, allowing me to hold her wrist. With just a tiny flick, she could send a weakling like me—endurance stat of 25, completely pathetic—flying across the room like a popped balloon.

Which was exactly why she wouldn’t.

As long as the Saint’s decree was in place, Adna couldn’t harm me. But that didn’t mean I was completely safe. I was too fragile. Even a casual flick of her hand could leave me sprawled on the floor, coughing up blood. Last time, she’d warned me to let go, then casually demonstrated her power by punching the air so hard it cracked the ground beneath us.

If she did something like that again, Tartar Sauce would come running to check on me.

And that would give the Research Director precious seconds to prepare. Someone conducting forbidden experiments wouldn’t operate without contingencies for an unexpected Apostle visit.

Adna’s eyes—cold and clear as marbles—drifted to where my hand still gripped her wrist.

“What happened?” she asked suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking what happened while you were serving as a Reader.”

That’s such a broad question…

My mind went blank. How was I supposed to answer that? Too much had happened, way too much. And most of it? Not exactly stuff I could share with an Apostle of Order. Especially not one standing in my doorway, one wrong move away from discovering things she absolutely should not know about.

It’s not like this is some essay prompt where I need to list everything I’ve learned.

There was only one answer I could give.

“Nothing worth mentioning.” I smiled, trying to look relaxed. “In this Holy Cathedral, protected by the Unbreakable Wall Apostle, what could possibly happen to me?”

Adna tilted her head slightly, the motion precise and slightly scary.

“Losing an arm is ‘nothing’ to you?”

…Shit.

My heart nearly stopped. How does she know? Ledeia’s divine power still lingered in my new arm, sure, but the Saint hadn’t said anything about it. Had she sensed it? Noticed something I’d missed?

“How… how did you know?”

“The last time I saw you, you had a scar there. Now it’s gone.”

Her eyes locked onto my arm like she could see right through the sleeve.

When did she even notice that? And she actually remembers?

Seriously, even I don’t know what scars are supposed to be on Fabio’s body.

Before I could answer, Adna grabbed my sleeve and rolled it up, examining my arm with scary focus. Her finger traced along my skin, following a boundary that only she could see.

“This is where it was amputated,” she said with absolute certainty.

My stomach dropped, a chill spreading through my chest.

“If it had only been cut off and reattached,” she continued, her finger moving slowly down my arm, “then everything below this point would still be your original arm. But this entire section… it’s completely new.” Her icy eyes locked with mine. “So where’s your original arm that was cut off?”

“That’s…”

“If you can’t remember, I’ll ask the Research Director.”

“N-No!” The word burst out before I could stop it. “That won’t be necessary. I can explain.”

Except I couldn’t. My mind went totally blank, panic short-circuiting every thought.

Shit. What am I supposed to say now?

Telling her the truth was out of the question. That I had sought out the God of Records—who claimed innocence, insisted there was never a rebellion, but had still defied Order.

To everyone else, he wasn’t just an outcast. He was a traitor god being punished for his crimes.

And what would that make me? A heretic who had deliberately sought out someone branded as a traitor?

That wasn’t just dangerous. That was basically me sprinting straight toward a Game Over with open arms.

…Okay. Think. What excuse would actually make sense in a medieval setting?

My brain spun through increasingly ridiculous possibilities.

Chopping firewood and missing spectacularly?

Caught cheating at gambling and paying with a limb?

Lost it to a sea monster in some bizarre fishing accident?

Yeah, right. I wouldn’t believe that garbage myself.

Damn. No way around it. No other option.

“I donated my left arm to the Research Director,” I said sincerely. “Completely voluntarily!”

Adna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And why, exactly, would you do something like that?”

Her expression barely changed, but her disbelief was so strong I could practically feel it pressing against my skin.

“Well, I am an outsider to Order. If it helps Order, then… isn’t it natural to contribute that much?”

“You must have been warned about the Research Director. How did you end up meeting him? Did he approach you first?”

“No! I went looking for him myself.”

“Why?”

Think. Think.

“I was curious about other outsiders like me. I thought the Research Director might have some answers.”

Nothing. Not even a blink from Adna as she stared at me. Her silence felt worse than any accusation.

“A-And the main reason people told me to avoid him was because I’d find his appearance repulsive, right? But that’s only because I don’t have the Blessing of Order. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s not right. Shouldn’t I try harder exactly because I don’t have that blessing? If I make myself see beauty in what Order has deemed beautiful, wouldn’t that help me get closer to Order…?”

“That’s utter nonsense.”

“S-Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Adna’s voice remained as blunt as ever. “It’s not like you came up with such foolish ideas on your own. No one chooses to be born ignorant.”

Wow. She really doesn’t sugar-coat anything, does she?

“If there’s anyone to blame, it’s the Research Director for taking advantage of your ignorance and naivety.”

“The Research Director is—”

“Not someone worth defending.”

I closed my mouth. Arguing would only make things worse.

Wait, why am I even trying to defend that mad scientist?

He did take my arm without permission and use it for whatever shady research he was doing. And I’d already done him a favor by not revealing the actual truth—that he was digging into the past that Order had erased. Blaming him for a lesser crime was practically generous.

“I’ll get your arm back myself.”

Well. That solves one problem, at least. It had been bothering me.

If Adna was offering to retrieve it, I wasn’t about to object. The Research Director would probably throw a fit about having his “rightfully acquired” compensation taken away, but honestly?

Not my problem.

“Shouldn’t we answer the Saint’s summons first, though?”

“…I’ll send another Apostle to go with you.”

“No, I’d rather have you with me, Adna.”

I let a hint of anxiety slip into my voice. Not that I had to fake it much. I was already scared shitless.

“I’m really nervous right now. Apostle Adna, do you know what I asked for?”

“…No. The Saint only instructed for one of us to bring you. I volunteered.”

“I asked to learn about my past. My life before this one.”

I reached out, lightly holding her sleeve—a small, vulnerable gesture.

“I’d feel better if you stayed with me through this.”

“…For something like this, the Sixth Apostle would be better suited.”

“But he reads emotions. Being around him makes me feel… exposed.”

I searched Adna’s face, hoping for any tiny sign of emotion.

As usual, nothing. A perfect, unreadable mask.

“I need someone I can rely on. Like you, Adna.”

“…Hm.”

She exhaled softly, thinking it over.

“Fine. I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you!”

She studied me for a moment before murmuring, “You really are…”

She didn’t finish.

…Pathetic? A complete idiot?

The awkward silence stretched between us until she finally spoke again.

“…What about the Blessing of Pain Relief?”

“Pardon?”

“If the Blessing of Solace didn’t work on you, then the Blessing of Pain Relief wouldn’t have worked either.”

The smallest, tiniest, crease appeared between Adna’s eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t having your arm removed be incredibly painful if you could feel everything?”

…What kind of messed-up question is that?

Of course it had hurt like crazy. I’d nearly died from the pain.

But I couldn’t tell her that.

If I did, her next obvious question would be: ‘Then why the hell would you donate it?’

“…It hurt,” I admitted carefully, “but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“How could I possibly lie in your presence, Apostle Adna?”

Her expression stayed blank as she said, “Your mind is thoroughly diseased.”

“… I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. Forget it.”

How the hell am I supposed to ignore THAT?

Adna didn’t say another word. She just turned sharply and walked away, leaving me no choice but to follow.

As I hurried after her, I secretly traced words onto my palm. [Contact Research Director] [Watch out for the Apostle]

Not that Colomba really needed the warning. If he’d managed to mess around with forbidden knowledge this long without getting burned at the stake, he probably knew how to take care of himself.

Still… this kind of communication setup was frustratingly one-sided. I had no way of knowing if Grister even got my message.

A simple confirmation system would be—

Wait. No. Absolutely not. Delete that thought immediately.

The second my brain imagined something squirming beneath my skin to spell out ‘Yes’, a massive shudder ran through my entire body.

Yeah, no. I definitely didn’t need a response function.

And honestly, nobody else needed something that nightmarish either.

I forced myself to focus on walking, trying to ignore the annoying itch on my hand. Before I knew it, we were standing before a pair of towering doors, their sheer presence demanding reverence.

Adna stepped forward and pushed them open effortlessly.

“Fabio.”

The voice drifted from within.

The Saint stood waiting. His face was partly hidden behind an ornate headpiece—a small blessing, really. Without it, I might have been struck speechless by his insane beauty. Instead, my attention was free to focus on something much stranger.

Boxes? No… chests.

Dozens of them, neatly arranged at the Saint’s feet. Their elaborate designs and various sizes reminded me of an archaeological site, like ancient treasures dug up and exhibited without labels or explanations.

“…What are these?” I asked.

“The personal belongings Perpetua left behind.”

Left behind? Personal belongings?

I frowned. I had asked about Perpetua’s relationships, not her stuff.

And more importantly, was it even okay to bring her things here like this?

Isn’t Perpetua still alive?

Becoming Happy God’s contractor should have meant she was alive, at least until the starry sky opened… right?

…Wait. Something’s wrong here.

Who exactly did the Saint think I was?

Roklem knew this world had cycled through multiple iterations. So, logically, the Saint recognizing me as Fabio, who was Perpetua in the previous cycle made a certain kind of sense.

But if this cycle’s Perpetua was still alive…

Then what happened to her soul?

“Most of these chests hold what’s left of her body.”

“What’s…left?”

“Yes. I gathered every piece.” The Saint’s eyes never left mine.

I forced myself to look at the chests again. Really look this time. Some were as big as moving boxes, sturdy and ornate, designed to preserve whatever was sealed inside. My mind recoiled at what they might contain.

“When did Perpetua die?” I finally managed to ask.

It wasn’t impossible for her to have died before the starry sky opened. This cycle had already been altered by players’ choices. Everything was different now.

Way more different than I’d realized.

Reyes’s Winter Flower operation had proven that much. Once-fertile farmlands lay barren, crops shriveled to dust. Over ten thousand people with hollow stomachs and emptier eyes. Disappointed didn’t even begin to cover what they felt.

And I was sure the other Othergods weren’t making their demands any less brutal either.

With all those different requirement conditions players had to meet, something must have happened to Perpetua.

“Yesterday,” the Saint said.

…Yesterday?

“Then these remains…”

“Most of them were prepared long before that. All but one were taken while she was still alive.”

Taken while she was alive?

The words crashed into each other in my mind, wrong, bizarre and impossible.

Even by the Church of Order’s standards—with their so-called eco-friendly approach to human sacrifice and their casual attitude toward chopping off body parts that would just grow back anyway…

I scanned the room again, counting box after box after box.

There are too many. Far too many…

“What was the cause of death?” Adna asked, her voice steadier than mine could have been.

I lifted my gaze to the Saint, waiting.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Dehydration.”

…She died of thirst?

In the Dark Realm? Where the Blessing of Healing exists? Where no one should ever die from something so… basic?

“She hadn’t responded to any stimulation or taken food or water for several months.”

A terrible realization started to form in my mind.

No… it couldn’t be. It has to be just a coincidence.

After all, Perpetua had only ever been available as a unit when selecting traits like melancholy, anhedonia, and emotional detachment.

It made more sense that extreme depression had left her catatonic like that. I’d read about cases like this. Before modern psychiatric treatment, some people with severe depression became completely immobile—their bodies shutting down while their minds retreated somewhere no one could reach.

“In an attempt to treat her condition,” the Saint continued, “they summoned excommunicated Healing Priests multiple times… to replace parts of her body.”

I felt Adna’s eyes on me, heavy with unspoken questions.

“Even then, the priests deliberately withheld the Blessing of Pain Relief, yet there was still no reaction whatsoever.”

With reverent care, he bent down and picked up a box so small it nearly vanished in his hand. His movements were gentle, almost tender.

“Perpetua wore a faint smile on her face throughout. As if pain itself could not touch her.”

The Saint approached with measured steps, his fingers working open the small box as he drew closer.

I tried to back away. My body wouldn’t listen.

“I was terribly curious,” he murmured, voice soft with wonder. “What could she have been thinking? What kind of delightful fantasy had Perpetua so completely detached from reality…?”

Before I could stop him, he grabbed my right hand and tipped the box over my palm.

White fragments clattered against my skin. Some pieces slipped through my fingers, hitting the floor with tiny, brittle sounds. My brain needed several agonizing seconds to process what I was seeing.

Human teeth. Dozens of them.

[SYSTEM: Contact confirmed. Subject identified as the remains of ‘Perpetua.’]

[SYSTEM: Memory Synchronization protocol enabled. Matching play log found.]

[SYSTEM: The effect of the trait ‘Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme’ has converted ‘Memory Recall’ into text format.]

“Before she passed away… could you please tell me her final thoughts?” the Saint asked.

A new system window appeared before my eyes.

His request triggered something—a thought bubbling up from the depths of my mind.

Perpetua’s final thoughts?

The text began to scroll. Not words so much as a scream stretching across my vision:

[HAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPY]