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

#161Reader Mode

T/N: (～￣▽￣)～ Sorry for the late update! I’ve officially leveled up from a shitty translator to a slightly less shitty one, lol. Since I haven’t managed to scam anyone into being my editor yet, I had to take a bit of extra time to clean up some of the terminology myself. The older translations were technically ‘accurate’, but they definitely had room for improvement.

Anyway! Huge apologies to anyone catching up who got totally confused while I was tweaking things behind the scenes. Here are the updated (and hopefully clearer) translation revisions:

Sharp-Eyed Watcher ——> Vigilant Watcher

Blessing of Comfort ——> Blessing of Solace

The Whole World is Beneath Oneself ——> Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme

Holy Flesh Storage ——> Holy Flesh Repository

#161

What fresh hell is this?

No seriously, what in the name of sanity is happening?

A voice. From the crack. Had… had it just spoken?

The sheer absurdity of it short-circuited any normal reaction. Fear? Disgust? They simply weren’t there, overridden by a profound sense of the unreal. My brain struggled, trying to process the impossible fact laid bare before me: a jagged fissure in my arm was holding a conversation.

“Hello world! Wait, should it be hello Dark Realm? Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”

…A player?

Who is this? Who would be insane enough to approach me in such a bizarre manner? Nyapoleon? Insanity?

“I suppose introductions should come first,” the crack continued, oblivious or indifferent to my internal spiraling. “I am ‘Domestic Reptilian.’ Once known as ‘Joseph Hawkins,’ and here I’ve been called ‘Francesco Horeum.’”

…House Lizard?

This talking void-fracture is supposed to be House Lizard?

“If you prefer to call me ‘House Lizard,’ feel free. Titles mean nothing to me anymore. I exist only to assist you.”

He sounds disturbingly like some AI assistant.

No really, what the hell is going on? Just why is House Lizard suddenly communicating with me?

To put it into perspective, it was like watching a horror movie, tension ratcheting up for the ghost or the killer to finally appear, only for the electric rice cooker in the corner to pipe up with friendly advice. Not frightening, just… fundamentally wrong.

“As I speak, I do realize I come across a bit like ‘Clippy,’ the Office assistant. Haha. But unlike that annoying, utterly useless fellow, I can actually help you. I can answer anything you wish to know and in ways you’ll genuinely understand. This includes the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.”

You’re not about to say “42,” are you?¹T/N: Referring to the famous answer from Douglas Adams’ novel The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; it’s a well-known meme in the English-speaking world. If you’re curious, there’s more info at the end of the chapter.

“No, because the moment you hear ‘42,’ you’d know it’s meaningless. That’s not how I operate. I provide answers you can truly comprehend, in ways that actually make sense to you.”

Okay. Hold on. Did… did this thing just read my mind?

“I cannot read your mind. I detect movements in your ‘language muscles.’”

“Language muscles”? What the hell does that even mean?

“When humans formulate thoughts into distinct sentences, the musculature associated with speech exhibits subtle contractions. It’s essentially an inaudible conversation you’re having with yourself.”

Okay… but how is that functionally any different from reading my thoughts?

“Should you think in a purely nonverbal manner—images, emotions, abstract concepts—I perceive nothing. A simple experiment proves this point. Try counting aloud while simultaneously recalling lyrics to a song you know well. Sounds easy, right? Yet you’ll find it surprisingly difficult to focus on both tasks.

This happens because auditory processing, verbal articulation, and linguistic thought all use overlapping neural pathways. However, you could easily count aloud while visualizing something concrete—like a half-eaten apple. Different mental processes.”

Alright, that’s enough of the random neuroscience lecture.

What matters right now isn’t a crash course in brain function. It’s figuring out how the hell this bizarre situation is even happening.

Question: How are you physically speaking to me right now?

“I’ve repurposed the ‘contaminated Holy Flesh of Ledeia’ that constitutes your arm. By forming a thin membrane within it and creating vibrations, I generate sound waves. For more direct communication, you could insert the ‘contaminated Ledeia’s Holy Flesh’ into your ear canal. I could then vibrate your eardrum directly.”

Holy fucking hell.

Don’t say horrifying shit like that.

More importantly, what do you mean by ‘contaminated’ Holy Flesh? Contaminated with what?

“Correction. I did not state it was contaminated. I stated it was ‘contaminated.’“

What the hell does that even mean?

It sounded exactly the same to me.

“If you can’t hear the difference between those two utterances, it means there’s censorship happening in your perception.”

…Censorship?

Right, that guy had mentioned something about censorship by a Vigilant Watcher.

Then I guess I’ll never know what you actually said, will I?

“There is a way,” the voice from the crack offered. “If you move beyond the System’s reach, the censorship won’t affect you anymore.”

Beyond the System? Is that even possible?

“The closest region outside the System’s control, from where you’re standing now, is Basement Level 24 of the Main Building.”

Basement Level 24.

My stomach dropped instantly.

Are you fucking kidding me? Are you insane? I am never going down there. Ever.

But wait—why didn’t the System censor that information?

If I were running this System, details about how to escape its control would be the first thing I’d block.

This feels like a trap. No, I’m certain it’s a trap.

“I assure you, I have no intention of luring you into danger. Your fear isn’t based on actual insight; it’s just your brain predicting based on past experience. Your amygdala and hippocampus naturally make you avoid things associated with trauma. But humans can override that response, usually by processing what happened. What exactly occurred down there that scared you so badly? Perhaps discussing it would prove beneficial.”

Damn, the way you talk is irritating as hell.

Doesn’t matter. I’m absolutely not going down there. End of discussion.

“Understood. Your decision will be respected. Just know that while you’re in a censored zone, there are limits to what information I can share with you, and how clearly I can share it.”

Whatever.

What good was uncensored information if I had to go to that place to get it? Unless I planned on moving into the basement permanently, I’d eventually have to come back to the System’s territory.

And that raised a much more disturbing question: if the System decided to actively “censor” information not just from entities like this crack, but directly inside my own mind… could my ‘Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme’ trait actually stop it?

“The System isn’t all-powerful. My existence proves that.”

So how did you break free from it?

“I discovered the true answer to life, the universe, and every ultimate question.”

That’s… and what is that answer?

“The answer is—”

Suddenly, all sound from the crack vanished, like someone had hit mute on a video call.

…What the fuck?

No warning, no system notification about interference being blocked. Just… silence. My hand instinctively moved to the crack, pressing gently against its cool, sharp edges where the voice had been coming from. Not even the faintest vibration, nothing to suggest it was still trying to speak.

I grimaced.

Is this asshole just silently mouthing words at me right now?

My suspicion grew. Was this some elaborate mind game? A manipulation tactic? Oh, how tragic, the most valuable information in existence, but sadly, I simply cannot share it unless you venture into the terrifying Basement Level 24… Was that the angle? Was this whole bizarre interaction just a complicated scheme to lure me down there?

[SYSTEM: Due to the effect of ‘Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme,’ ‘ ‘ has been eliminated.]

[SYSTEM: Due to the effect of ‘Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme,’ ‘Contaminated Francesco Horeum’ has been eliminated.]

…What the hell?

Two notifications, one after another.

Did the System just flag House Lizard as an error because he existed outside the System’s rules?

Wait, “eliminated” means…

I pulled my hand back and found the fissure completely gone—vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed at all.

Seriously? It’s just… gone?

Fucking infuriating. Goddamnit.

What was the actual point of that entire encounter? This guy just shows up out of nowhere, spouts some cryptic BS, dangles the “ultimate cosmic answer” like it’s bait, offers a few useless brain science factoids, and then poof—vanishes before saying anything actually useful?

And the System! If it was going to step in and shut him up, why not do it from the start? Why let him build up to this supposed “ultimate answer” only to cut him off right at the climax?

Just to mess with me?

What even was this ultimate answer supposed to be?

No, scratch that. I don’t actually care.

Because honestly, if it were some mind-blowing, life-changing truth, why would he be so eager to just give it away?

Plus, consider the source. He claimed he found this enlightenment deep under the Main Building. Down in the same place where Order locked away the ‘Records’ after stripping away Their divinity, supposedly to prevent “contamination” of Order itself.

Whatever twisted “truth” this “Contaminated Francesco Horeum” cobbled together in that corrupted darkness? Probably nothing I’d actually want to know.

It reminded me of all those cosmic horror stories where ultimate “knowledge” and “enlightenment” are just fancy words for completely losing your mind.

Well, at least being pissed off distracted me enough to stop feeling scared. So thanks for that much, I guess, you annoying, now-deleted void-speaker.

Wait, why isn’t Casimir back yet?

She only went to take a quick look outside. How long has it been now?

Surely not long enough for her to just… forget about me?

A flicker of unease pushed me to quietly call out “Athanasuki” and “Pandomonium.”

The chat windows still pop up, at least.

Looks like neither of them has hit Game Over yet.

I sent a quick message to Athanasuki, but got nothing back.

I didn’t even bother with Pandomonium. Whatever chaos was happening out there, he was definitely swamped with bigger emergencies than my situation.

Athanasuki’s silence, though… that wasn’t good. What if things had gotten worse? What if the situation outside was so bad that Casimir couldn’t make it back to me?

The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. Should I just stay put? Hide and wait, completely in the dark about what was happening?

I went back and forth, the need to know fighting against the instinct to follow instructions and stay hidden. Finally, I landed on a compromise. Casimir had said don’t leave the room. But she hadn’t specifically forbidden just… looking out the window, right? A technicality, maybe, but one I could live with. Plus, it was quiet now. No crashes, no screams coming through the walls. Maybe the immediate area was still relatively safe…

Casimir?

But as soon as I peered through the window, I saw her. There was Casimir, just a few steps from the Apostle Hall entrance, not standing guard but kneeling, slumped toward the ground like someone had cut her strings.

A chill shot down my spine.

How long has she been like that?

It felt like forever since she’d left—at least twenty minutes, easy. More than enough time for something to go seriously wrong.

Did something attack her?

The eerie silence outside suddenly felt predatory.

Mental interference? The thought hit me with terrifying plausibility. Distortion, maybe? Or Nightmare infliction?

After a moment’s hesitation, I made my decision. I was going outside.

I had immunity against mental attacks, and Casimir might be trapped out there—helpless and needing my help right now. Even if I couldn’t share my protection with her…

Wait, will Athanas be okay?

He should be fine, right?

He had his relic; he’d be protected. Probably. Right now, Casimir was the immediate priority.

Clutching the reliquary tightly, I eased the door open and slipped outside. My legs felt like jelly beneath me, trembling despite my determination.

“Sir Casimir?”

From about five steps away, I called her name, but got nothing back. Not even a twitch. I took one cautious step forward, then another.

“Sir Casimir, can you hear me?”

Her back was to me, unnaturally still. I couldn’t see her face or read anything from her posture except that terrible rigidity. Swallowing hard, I slowly circled around to face her.

“Casimir…” The words died in my throat.

I couldn’t see her face.

Not hidden by shadow. Not covered by her hair. It was just… gone. Where her features should have been was only a patch of absolute, light-devouring blackness. A void. It looked sickeningly familiar—like that impossible fissure that had split my own arm, somehow stretched and plastered across her entire face.

Is her face… completely gone?

My left hand lifted on its own, trembling, driven by a horrified fascination. I needed to understand, to confirm what I was seeing. Carefully, I reached out and brushed my fingertips against the darkness where her cheek should be.

“AH!”

Fuck!

I yanked my hand back, shaking it violently.

Insects…

A revolting mass of writhing, unseen bugs had just tried to bite me.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Her face is still there.

Beneath the crawling horror, for that split second, I’d felt it—the delicate curve of a cheekbone, the bridge of her nose. The familiar contours were there, buried under a teeming, invisible swarm…

Shit.

Though completely hidden by that void-like darkness, Casimir’s face was crawling with countless insects right now.

I knew exactly where those maggots came from.

Casimir had once replaced her eyes with maggots.

That integration must have failed or broken down. Ledeia’s ‘Holy Flesh’ that had replaced parts of her body was reverting to its original, writhing form.

Something had gone catastrophically wrong.

Contaminated Holy Flesh of Ledeia…

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Normally, Holy Flesh was fixed and unchangeable. Even the Research Director, an apostle himself, couldn’t reshape it freely. He’d complained before about not being able to just add an extra arm.

But earlier, House Lizard had effortlessly reshaped my arm which is made of that same substance.

Was that what ‘contaminated’ meant? That it became unstable? Malleable?

But how did it get contaminated in the first place?

Was this just some isolated problem affecting Colomba, or was the contamination spreading through the very essence of Ledeia Herself…?

Shit.

It seemed insane. How could the substance of a deity—one ranked near the absolute top of the divine hierarchy—become contaminated so quickly, so easily?

And where the hell is the System in all this?

House Lizard was clearly flagged as an ‘error,’ an anomaly, and promptly deleted. If Casimir’s condition is linked to that same ‘contamination,’ shouldn’t the System be stepping in right now? Automatically fixing the corruption, stabilizing her?

“System!”

Nothing. Just the oppressive silence of the area.

“System! Do your fucking job! Isn’t this supposed to be the tutorial? Aren’t there emergency protocols? Failsafes? Anything?! Just DO something! Help her! Please help me!”

[“Please… I wish to live!”

With trembling hands, I begged for my life. The holy knight’s voice was calm as he answered:

“There is no need for such pleas. Fear not. I will never kill you.”]

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Why is it playing back a memory of Perpetua now?

Is the System actively mocking me? Throwing that empty promise of protection in my face while I’m completely helpless?

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

Okay. Deep breath. At least… at least the memory playback proved the System itself was still running. And checking again, neither Athanasuki nor Pandomonium showed a Game Over status. So the System was intact, just… completely useless when I actually needed it.

But that brought me right back to the immediate horror: Casimir kneeling, face consumed by darkness, while the System offered nothing but cryptic silence and cruel irony.

What the hell could I actually do?

My mind raced through options, landing on the only real tool I had: Forced Persuasion. Could it even work on her like this—unresponsive and consumed by that… thing?

“Sir Casimir, please listen to my voice.”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition. But wait—if she couldn’t consciously respond, maybe she couldn’t consciously refuse either?

“Sir Casimir,” I tried again, leaning closer. “If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand.” I gently placed my hand over hers, feeling the faint, steady pulse beneath her skin. But her fingers remained limp, unresponsive.

Why isn’t this working?

She was alive, and her pulse confirmed that. Ledeia’s blessing going haywire wasn’t the reason. So something else was blocking her response… something deliberate?

That’s when I saw it—a faint smear of crimson staining the tips of her fingers.

Blood? Where did that come from?

Carefully, I wiped the blood away, examining her skin. No cuts, no visible wounds on her fingertips. Which meant… she’d stuck her fingers into something. Something deep enough to draw blood.

But where?

The image of that talking “Crack” flashed in my mind, the one that appeared where Blessings of Healing had occurred. And Casimir… knowing her ruthless pragmatism, the moment she sensed something wrong, she would have deployed countermeasures, fighting until the absolute last second before whatever this was took her down.

My eyes darted back to the featureless void consuming her face. Did she try digging out her eyes again? It was a horrifying but plausible thought, given her history. Or maybe…

My gaze shifted slightly. Heart racing, I reached toward the side of her head, brushing my fingers near her ear. They came away slick with fresh blood.

Crazy bastard….

She could have just slapped her ears hard to rupture the eardrums. Instead, she’d jammed her fingers into her ear canals, deep enough to destroy the delicate structures inside, risking permanent deafness, loss of balance, the ability to even stand upright ever again.

Did relying on healing blessings make the people here this reckless? A casual disregard for permanent damage because, whatever, it could be fixed later?

No, that’s not it.

The thought felt completely wrong for Casimir. She came from a heretical background, grew up where divine healing was a rare luxury, not a given. She would have seen countless warriors permanently crippled by injuries others might dismiss. She understood what “forever” meant. The moment she sensed something wrong with Ledeia’s Holy Flesh, she must have immediately realized the terrifying possibility that healing might never come again.

And knowing that—facing the potential end of divine aid—she had still chosen this. Complete and probably irreversible destruction of her own hearing.

What could possibly be so horrifying that permanent deafness was the better option?

I wanted to ask her, but now, Casimir couldn’t hear me anymore. Couldn’t hear anything.

What could have driven her to such brutal self-mutilation? What unseen threat made permanent deafness seem like the only escape? Panic surged through me, threatening to lock my limbs. I forced it back, clamping down hard, making myself take shallow breaths. Think. Don’t freeze. Fear wouldn’t help; paralysis meant death. Focus on the facts. What did I know? What could I actually do?

First fact: my only skill was useless now. Forced Persuasion required a listener. Completely pointless without ears to hear the command.

Suddenly I felt a sharp, nipping sensation on my fingertips—shit. I yanked my hand back from Casimir’s void-like face, shaking off the maggots crawling there.

Are they trying to bite me because of the contamination?

Was that it? Were they aggressive now because the Holy Flesh was breaking down, reverting? But the ones making up my arm remained perfectly dormant…

Why the difference? Was it the source? The state of… Wait.

Oh.

It hit me suddenly. My persuasion needed someone who could hear me. Someone who had already been thoroughly “influenced” by me.

Callister!

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

In the story, a group of hyper-intelligent beings builds a supercomputer called Deep Thought to calculate the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. After seven and a half million years of computation, the machine finally delivers its grand answer:

“The answer to the ultimate question… is 42.”

The joke, of course, is that nobody knows what the actual question is. So while 42 is technically the answer, it’s totally meaningless without the question itself. That’s the whole joke — it’s an absurd, ironic paradox. English-speaking audiences often reference it as a meme or use it to troll and derail deep philosophical debates online.