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

#160Reader Mode

T/N: TL Quality Update Pandemonium ─=≡Σ((( つ＞＜)つ–> Pandomonium

#160

Good thing Tartar Sauce wasn’t here right now. If he was, he’d be watching the entire psychological meltdown happening behind my stiff expression.

“I understand.” Athanas’s arms fell away from me, the warmth of his embrace vanishing. The light in his eyes dimmed… yeah, no doubt about it, he looked disappointed. Next to us, Adna stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable.

My embarrassment was approaching critical mass. Heat climbed up my neck, threatening to turn my face into a glowing red traffic light.

…Did Adna already figured it out?

Was that blank stare just her waiting for me to crack and spill the truth about this whole fake relationship mess?

I should never have agreed to this fake ‘lovers’ nonsense…

The urge to bash my head against the nearest wall was real. Or maybe just drop to my knees, shout “It was all a lie!” and flee the scene like a melodramatic idiot.

No. Breathe.

I dragged myself back from the mental cliff edge, forcing logic to drown out the rising panic. Adna doesn’t do subtle. If she even slightly suspected something, she’d have already ripped the truth out of me with her signature blunt-force honesty.

That empty look? Just classic Adna. She probably hadn’t caught on at all.

Right. Keep it together. Keep acting.

I physically swallowed the scream building its way up my throat and somehow powered through the usual morning small talk. Athanas replied with his usual polite calm.

And then… nothing.

Silence stretched awkwardly between the three of us. My mental database of possible conversation topics had officially crashed and burned.

Damn, even those language-learning apps have better conversation starters than this.

“Hey, maybe I shouldn’t have called you over like this. You’ve probably got a mountain of work. Meeting every single day might be a bit—”

“I’m perfectly happy with this arrangement.” Athanas cut in before I could even finish hinting at scaling back. The sincerity in his tone was almost painful. “It doesn’t matter if we talk about the same things. Even just hearing you say today was no different from yesterday… that’s enough for me. That feels special.”

And there it is. My brain short-circuiting again.

I mentally hit reboot. Focus. Remember the actual objective here.

We didn’t need to maintain this whole fake-lovers thing 24/7, especially when we had nothing new to report. Wouldn’t a little distance between us be smarter? Safer, even?

But no. Every day, like clockwork, we were reenacting the same emotionally loaded scene. It felt like retaking a high-stakes exam each morning—one where even the slightest slip-up meant immediate, irreversible failure.

Why was I doing this to myself?

Why was I willingly signing up for daily psychological torture?

I tried again. “But… isn’t it kind of a hassle? Seeing each other every day like this?”

“Not at all.”

Athanas, seriously, could you read the room! Just a little!

He eventually left, promising to visit again tomorrow.

I kept asking if he was really sure this was okay, but he dodged every time with some vague, poetic line about enduring anything if it meant seeing me. Never a clear answer. Not once.

It’s genuinely unsettling… never getting an honest response from him.

So, yeah. I’m stuck guessing.

What other reason could Athanas possibly have for actually wanting to come to the Apostle Hall every day?

Whatever it is, I’m too mentally drained to keep psychoanalyzing him right now.

I’ll adapt. People can get used to anything if they do it long enough, right?

Eventually, my routine at the Apostle Hall settled into something manageable. Not exciting, but tolerable. I mostly trailed after Adna during her training, and buried myself in books whenever I had the chance.

Her original suggestion? Just sit beside me in complete silence while I did… whatever. Which sounded like a form of torture. So I pitched a counteroffer: I’d follow her around and observe her daily routine under the flimsy excuse of “getting closer to Order.”

She bought it. No questions asked.

This setup meant I saw Athanas once a day for about thirty minutes.

“Fabio.”

Our conversations weren’t exactly deep.

“I missed you.”

“…We just saw each other yesterday.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

Nope. Still not immune to hearing things like that. Not even close.

If I managed to laugh without sounding completely unhinged, we could usually steer the conversation toward safer, mind-numbing small talk.

But every now and then, buried in all that fluff, something actually useful slipped through. Like today:

“There’s been a noticeable increase in pilgrims carrying swords,” Athanas mentioned. “Starting today, the squires were complaining about being ordered to spend more time maintaining their gear.”

“Nights are getting shorter, but their workload’s growing? Yeah, I’d be annoyed too.”

Pilgrims carrying swords. That’s new.

Normally, they don’t bring actual weapons. Maybe a walking staff to shoo away wild animals, but that’s about it. The pilgrimage routes are all Church-patrolled, supposedly safe. No risk of bandits.

…Sounds like nobles who weren’t even directly involved are starting to send their knights to check out the rumors for themselves.

Can’t really blame them. When the head of a major noble house rolls up to the Capital Cathedral with their full entourage, people notice. Out in their own territories, these nobles basically rule like miniature kings—each one a sovereign in their corner of the Dark Realm.

It’s like if all the leaders of a world council suddenly gathered in one spot without warning. Anyone left out of the loop would panic, and for good reason.

Problem is, news travels painfully slow. Even with messengers riding their horses to death and swapping mounts at every relay station, it’d still take weeks to get a message back home.

“Any unusual hair colors on those pilgrims, by chance?” I asked.

“…Yes, actually.”

Just as I suspected.

Anyone with a divine bloodline is basically a walking high-definition surveillance camera for their god. When something major’s about to go down, the deity can send Faith Points to send a revelation straight to the “head of house”—an early warning system for disasters.

It’s like a supernatural, premium-rate telegram.

In-game, it played out as a mechanic where deploying “Apostle” or “Archbishop” units as scouts would reveal hidden details on your map.

“Sounds like the Cathedral’s about to get a lot more crowded,” I said.

“…Even so, I’ll still make time to see you.”

Right. Keep dumping your responsibilities on everyone else and watch your workplace popularity tank in real time.

I almost asked if Sereno was still looking for Reyes, but caught myself just in time.

Less than three days after that conversation, word came in: the Council had been officially declared.

“Well, I guess things are about to get busy.”

“Just because they’ve announced it doesn’t mean it starts tomorrow. It’ll take at least two weeks for all the Archbishops who are required to attend to actually arrive.” Athanas reminded me.

Two weeks just for everyone to arrive… By the time it officially starts and wraps up, it’ll be the winter solstice.

The entire Cathedral was buzzing with Council chatter. You could practically feel the tension and excitement vibrating through the walls. But over in the Apostle Hall? It was like nothing had happened. Business as usual. Even Adna stuck to her routine like the biggest religious summit of the year had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Still, one change was hard to miss…

The crowd’s back, and bigger than before.

My window gave me a perfect view of the long walkway leading to the audience chamber. Hopeful petitioners would line up for hours, hovering nervously in front of those massive, closed doors before finally giving up and shuffling away. The truly dedicated ones? They’d settle right in on the cold marble floor like fans at a sold-out concert, camping out for days.

They could at least offer those poor people a waiting room with chairs.

Among the devoted was a man old enough to look like he’d personally witnessed the Cathedral’s founding. He spent three full days in prayer outside the chamber before finally giving up and going home.

I actually worried about him enough to sneak out a blanket. But when he tried to strike up a conversation, I panicked, dropped the blanket vaguely in his direction, and speed-walked away like my life depended on it.

Pretty sure I was still wearing that Oblivion relic Adna gave me at the time…

So yeah, that little moment served as a solid reminder: holy relics aren’t some all-powerful solution to everything.

After that, I went back to quietly people-watching from my window. That is, until one day, a status window suddenly popped up:

[Mother….]

Logically, I knew it was referencing the head of House Ophea. But that one word—“Mother”—immediately yanked my thoughts back to the ominous Mother God. Just hearing it triggered the kind of chill that wraps around your spine and doesn’t let go. Safe to say, my little window-gazing hobby ended right then and there.

…Nyapoleon’s probably prowling around the Cathedral by now, too.

I kept drafting messages to Pandomonium asking if he’d spotted him yet, then deleting them before hitting send. You know how in every horror movie, the phone rings at the absolute worst time and blows someone’s cover? Yeah. I wasn’t about to be that bastard.

So I did what any responsible person in my position would do: absolutely nothing. Just floated through the days in a boring, but peaceful fog.

Eventually, the day of the Council arrived.

And the Cathedral was…

…eerily silent.

The stillness was so unnatural, it almost didn’t feel real. Like the whole building was holding its breath.

Then again, it made perfect sense. Anyone who mattered today was definitely packed into that conference chamber.

They were probably in the middle of some high-stakes theological debate, or more realistically, about to throw hands over centuries-old scripture disputes. Either way, not my problem.

“It’s nice being able to take a walk with you again after so long,” Adna said, strolling beside me.

Aren’t you a high-ranking Apostle? Should you really be here during the religious equivalent of a G20 summit?

She kept speaking in that calm, unhurried way as we meandered through the Cathedral’s central courtyard.

“The Council usually lasts around three days. Tomorrow should be as quiet as today.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“But I’ll need to be absent the day after tomorrow. There are mandatory procedures for all Apostles.”

Was that the part where they determined whether the Apostles would accept the newly decided doctrine, or stage a dramatic walkout?

The Council was wrapping up way faster than I’d anticipated. It’s still only the first week of December…

Which probably means the real chaos will kick off right after the Council ends.

At the very least, no player would be dumb enough to make a move while all the Apostles were still gathered in one room.

“In my stead, Commander Casimir will be watching over you,” Adna said.

“…Pardon?”

“She’s the only non-Apostle who knows you’re a Watched One.”

Isn’t that a bit excessive?

I mean, appointing someone like her as my personal babysitter basically guaranteed attention we’re trying to avoid.

It’s like the celebrity paradox: You could throw a hoodie and sunglasses on a nobody, but once they’re flanked by elite security, everyone starts whispering. Nothing screams “nothing suspicious happening here!” like being shadowed by a military legend.

I was about to argue that I’d be fine on my own—that I didn’t need an overpowered bodyguard—until I remembered that “It’s fine” had been effectively banned from my vocabulary after recent events.

“…Okay. I understand.”

It’s just for one day anyway.

What could possibly go wrong in that short a time?

I took it all lightly, foolishly mistaking the quiet for peace.

***

“Sir Casimir?”

The lighthearted mood vanished from her face in an instant. One second we were joking around; the next, her expression hardened like stone. The sudden shift sent a jolt through me.

“…Did something happen?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, Casimir sprang to her feet.

“I need to check on something. Stay here.”

“Stay here? What do you—”

“Do. Not. Leave. This room.” Her tone left no room for argument.

She grabbed something from her belt, tossed it to me, and rushed from the room before I could even process what was happening. The door slammed behind her with a force that left my ears ringing.

For a moment, I just stared at the closed door, my mind scrambling to catch up.

Then, slowly, I looked down at the object she’d thrown.

…An astrolabe?

I recognized it instantly. Antonio, the bell ringer back in the village, had given it to me as a parting gift before I left. An incredibly powerful holy relic, able to declare a Sanctuary even in the hands of someone without divine power.

There was just one small issue…

…I have absolutely no idea how to use this thing.

She didn’t give this to me because she thought things were about to get dangerous… right?

A cold sweat prickled across my skin.

No. No way.

Why would anyone need to declare a Sanctuary? Here? In the Cathedral?

Nothing that serious could happen here.

…Could it?

Truth was, I didn’t know.

Because I hadn’t wanted to know. I’d kept my head down, avoided asking questions, pretended not to notice the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Had I messed up?

Had choosing ignorance been the worst mistake I could make?

One second, I was fine. The next, my heart was hammering like it wanted out of my chest. Panic switched on, instant and overwhelming. I didn’t even realize my hand had gone to my throat until my fingernails scraped against the cold metal of Athanas’s reliquary. There was nothing actually choking me.

So why couldn’t I breathe?

Stay calm.

I gripped the reliquary tighter.

Casimir said she was just checking something. Told me to stay put. So I’ll stay put.

I’ll figure out what to do after I know what’s actually going on. Spiraling without answers won’t help anyone.

I forced myself to breathe, slow and steady, ironing out the ragged edges of each inhale.

It’s just anxiety. That’s all it is.

But then a strange tingling crept into my left arm… like it had a will of its own, ready to twitch or jerk without warning. Instinctively, I slapped my right hand over it, pinning it down like that would somehow keep it in check.

A breathy, borderline-hysterical laugh slipped out. I probably looked ridiculous. Like some anime protagonist desperately trying to suppress the dark flame dragon sealed in their arm.¹T/N: The “Dark Flame Dragon” reference comes from the anime: Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions! (中二病でも恋がしたい! ) More info at the bottom of the chapter if you want it.

Get a grip, I told myself. It’s just anxiety.

That same crawling itch always came with it. Never meant anything. Just overactive nerves. My brain being dramatic.

Just to prove it, I pushed up my sleeve, expecting to see nothing but normal skin. See? Nothing th—

My thought stuttered and died.

Because there was something.

A crack. Thin as a hair, blacker than shadow. Too deep to be a scratch, too sharp to be imagined.

My heart lurched.

I reached out with a trembling finger and traced along the edge. The skin didn’t feel torn. It felt… split. Not from outside, but from within—like something had started to fracture, deep beneath the surface.

What the hell is this?

Morbid curiosity warred with my rising fear. I barely touched the fissure again, needing to know, maybe just see how deep it went—

And then it abruptly split wide open.

No blood. No tearing. Just a clean, unnatural parting, like a seam being pulled apart, revealing a thin, impossible slit of pure darkness beneath my skin.

And from that void, a voice spoke.

“Greetings.”

Fuck.

T/N: The “Dark Flame Dragon” reference comes from the anime: Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions! (中二病でも恋がしたい! )

In the show, the main character, Yuuta Togashi, went through a classic case of chūnibyō—aka “eighth-grader syndrome”—where he fully believed he had supernatural powers. (Spoiler: he absolutely did not.)

While deep in his edgelord era, Yuuta called himself the Dark Flame Master and claimed his right arm sealed away an unstoppable force: the Dark Flame Dragon.

To complete the look, he’d wrap his arm in bandages or wear a long glove, dramatically pretending that unleashing it would cause catastrophic, world-ending destruction. He’d even clutch his arm mid-sentence like he was struggling to keep the dark power in check. Peak chūnibyō behavior.

These days, the Dark Flame Dragon has become a meme in Korean and Japanese internet culture, often used to make fun at someone’s cringey or overly dramatic moments.