Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 106

Ch.106 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“Is there… something troubling you?”  

Lagan’s words were light, yet sharp as a blade.  

Vincenzo twitched his parched lips.  

But no words came out.  

It was as if his tongue had lost its way inside his own mouth—his words rose only to his Adam’s apple before being swallowed back down.  

“…How could that be?”  

Finally, the answer emerged, lifeless.  

Afraid of appearing suspicious, Vincenzo quickly added more.  

“I’m simply living a humble, content life. With the grace of the Goddess of Light, I have no worries at all.”  

“I see. But you’re sweating so much.”  

“Yes. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit unwell. Forgive me for causing concern, especially to such an honored guest.”  

Lagan set down his wine cup and stared intently at Vincenzo.  

In that gaze, there was no longer any jest or lightheartedness.  

Only a razor-sharp, sword-like aura flowed from him.  

“Still. No matter how I think about it, it’s strange. A man who was perfectly fine just moments ago suddenly takes ill like this? His health? Did you drink poison?”  

“Haha… Haha. Sir Lagan, that’s quite a joke…”  

The laughter evaporated from Vincenzo’s lips.  

His voice cracked at the end, and cold sweat began to trickle down his forehead.  

“It’s fine. Anyone can get nervous.”  

Lagan slowly rose from his seat.  

“Usually when someone is hiding a sin.”  

“…!”  

Vincenzo gasped sharply.  

His heart pounded violently.  

No matter how often he wiped the cold sweat running down the back of his neck, it wouldn’t stop.  

Lagan walked toward him.  

His steps were light, yet each footfall approached like the sound of thunder.  

“Lord.”  

Vincenzo breathed as if choking.  

“Y-yes… yes…”  

“Do you know who I am?”  

Vincenzo’s Adam’s apple trembled uneasily.  

“O-of course. You’re the Commander of the Order of the Holy Sword, aren’t you?”  

“My blade is the will of the divine emissary. And that will is also the very will of Goddess Eru.”  

Gulp.  

“I know.”  

Vincenzo swallowed hard.  

“Then you also know what happens when one speaks falsehood before me?”  

Suddenly, Lagan’s eyes flared open.  

From within his pupils, a faint silvery-white divine power flickered.  

“This is your last chance, Vincenzo. Speak now—what are you hiding?”  

Kuu— Uung!  

In an instant.  

The air itself seemed to gain physical weight and was crushed down.  

It settled upon the banquet hall like Lagan’s rage made manifest.  

“I really…! I’m hiding nothing!”  

Vincenzo could utter no more.  

Before Lagan, he felt as though his breath, voice, and very life were all seized.  

The banquet hall was silent.  

The servants stood frozen in place.  

Only a few seasoned members of the Order of the Holy Sword calmly continued savoring their wine and food.  

“Lord. I’ve received direct blessing from Goddess Eru. I have the ability to smell the stench of lies in a person’s voice.”  

“…!!!”  

Lagan mockingly pinched his nose shut as he spoke.  

“You—your breath reeks of soup boiled with maggots in midsummer. It’s hard not to feel nauseated.”  

“…What?!”  

“Speak. Lord.”  

Lagan tightened his grip on his fork, issuing a warning.  

“This is your final chance. Once more. If you mock me, and deceive the Goddess of Light, I’ll rip out your tongue first.”  

“….”  

At that moment, Vincenzo’s mind went blank.  

How had it come to this?  

Until now, no one had ever noticed!  

Thanks to the magic laid out by the Apostle of Blood, there should have been no risk of exposure. This couldn’t be happening!  

But reality was merciless.  

He couldn’t breathe under the suffocating pressure from Lagan.  

“Lord. What are you hiding from me?”  

Dadadadada.  

The dining table, upon which Vincenzo had placed both arms, trembled violently. His pants slowly darkened. A pool of liquid spread beneath his shoes.  

“…I… I was afraid of death.”  

Vincenzo confessed, tightly shutting his eyes.  

The moment those words ended, Lagan let out a deep sigh.  

“Keep talking.”  

Lagan drew his sword.  

The mere sight of the sacred blade being unsheathed sent shivers through him. If he couldn’t speak properly, he would be executed on the spot. Even if he finished well, he would still die.  

But he clung to the faintest hope. Perhaps if he betrayed the Apostle of Blood here, they might show him mercy.  

“I didn’t want to grow old. I didn’t want to give up my glorious life.”  

“And so?”  

“…I made a pact with blood. I contacted the Apostle of Blood and promised to assist in any way I could.”  

Lagan gestured as if lifting a wine cup.  

“Go on. What harm have you done to the Holy Kingdom?”  

His tone was gentle. Yet beneath those words lay a cold, drawn blade.  

“Beneath my estate, there’s a long tunnel. I only knew it was built long ago by one of my distant ancestors during a great war. I handed it over.”  

Lagan’s pupils trembled.  

“Handed it over?”  

“The Apostle of Blood… uses it to come and go.”  

“Are they still there now?”  

“…Yes.”  

At that moment, a sharp pain shot through the back of Lagan’s head.  

A headache pounded like a hammer.  

The scale of this far exceeded anything he had imagined.  

“What in the world did I just hear?”  

“And occasionally, I offered living sacrifices. I’m ashamed, but that’s all I’ve hidden.”  

“….”  

Lagan closed his eyes briefly.  

His nasal bridge burned.  

His blood surged so rapidly it felt as if his nose might burst with blood.  

‘How is this even possible? It shouldn’t be possible.’

The unresolved questions lasted only a moment.  

“What the hell.”  

Lagan muttered a curse.  

None of the Holy Sword members were surprised, but Vincenzo was different.  

He nearly had a heart attack. Was the Commander of the Order of the Holy Sword really such a vulgar man?  

Could a Holy Knight of Light speak so coarsely?  

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on such things.  

He had to throw away all pride, honor, dignity—everything a noble held dear—and beg.  

Kung!  

“P-please spare me! If you spare my life, I’ll help you capture the Apostle of Blood, and all the other apostles too!”  

“And how exactly would you do that?”  

The Lord prostrated himself, pleading.  

“I-I heard they’re holding a meeting!”  

“A meeting?”  

“The Apostles of the Evil God will gather together soon!”  

Lagan slowly sheathed his sword and spoke.  

“The location. The time?”  

“I… I don’t know those details myself…”  

Lagan glared down at the prostrate traitor. His deep eyes stared blankly, devoid of emotion.  

“You’re not lying.”  

“O-of course not! I’ll become a double agent and serve you greatly!”  

“No. I don’t need that.”  

“Wh-what?!”  

Vincenzo jerked his head up in shock. At that moment, his vision was blocked by a hand.  

Crunch! Crrrrrunch!  

Lagan’s palm was the last thing Vincenzo ever saw.  

His face seized, his neck vertebrae were ripped out completely. It was a horrifying display of strength.  

Thump.  

Lagan lightly kicked Vincenzo’s cleanly severed head. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, muttering curses under his breath.  

“Wasn’t that too quick of a kill?”  

A servant approached and asked.  

Lagan shook his head.  

“He was already cursed by the Oath of Silence. The moment he spoke, he would die and leave a curse upon us.”  

“Oh, I see.”  

The Holy Sword members were already prepared. They dispelled the alcohol from their systems with divine power and entered combat readiness.  

The ignorant servants stood terrified, covering their mouths. Some maids had fainted after witnessing the lord’s spine being ripped out.  

“Any word from Sion?”  

Lagan asked.  

The Holy Sword members shook their heads in unison.  

“No. His presence vanished at some point.”  

“Where did he disappear?”  

“At the end of the first-floor lobby corridor.”  

Lagan picked up a wine bottle.  

“Lead the way. Today we’re doing a thorough extermination of these vermin.”  

“Yes!”  

As Lagan walked forward, the servant followed close behind, sword in hand, asking:  

“Commander. But… can you really smell the stench of lies? If so, I’d already be dead.”  

“Hmm.”  

“R-really?”  

The servant’s face turned deathly pale.  

“Of course not. I was bluffing.”  

Lagan downed the entire bottle in one gulp and tossed it behind him. The servant caught it and placed it on the table, exhaling in relief.  

***  

Sion’s eyes changed the moment he recognized the Apostle of Blood.  

They were the sharp eyes of a hunting dog.  

Utterly different from when he himself was the prey.  

‘…A barrier.’  

Sion lightly cut the tip of his finger and dabbed the blood onto the wall.  

Then he began drawing an incomprehensible pattern.  

Amazingly, his blood, layered onto the wall, was actively shaping blood magic.  

The blood runes subtly injected into the wall’s barrier writhed like living creatures.  

Sion perfectly understood and utilized their energy flow and intricate movements.  

The rarest of rare arts.  

An ability visible only to Sion.  

“More precisely… a seal, perhaps.”  

Sion succeeded in deciphering the barrier placed on this room.  

The result was astonishing.  

It wasn’t merely a barrier. It was closer to having sealed the entire castle itself from the inside, making it nearly undetectable from the outside.  

There was no doubt this was a highly sophisticated barrier technique. And there were only a few beings in the world capable of wielding magic at such a level.  

Muttering to himself, Sion drew his sword.  

He intended to slice through the delicate barrier membrane.  

The barrier’s unique configuration connected the floor and walls.  

The blood magic structure, inscribed in blood, was designed so that anyone approaching would instantly trigger a reverse flow.  

Any slight mistake or accidental touch would immediately activate the blood magic, swallowing the intruder and adding their blood to the system.  

‘An extremely dangerous spell.’

Even ordinary Blood cultists couldn’t handle this.  

Not even blood fiends could.  

Only someone at the level of the Sword Master-level vampire he’d just encountered seemed capable of safely navigating this intricate, delicate structure.  

‘Was he really a Sword Master… a Vampire Lord?’  

That would mean he was on the same level as the vampire lord Sion had first met long ago.  

‘Back then, I always struggled against that crazy woman and nearly died.’

Not anymore.  

Now he had grown to the point where he could end a fight instantly, even win.  

Sion’s hands didn’t stop dismantling the blood ritual. His arms moved faster and more precisely, fueled by excitement.  

It was as if he were crafting a masterpiece in midair.  

Ssrrrk.  

Like thin leather tearing, space opened along the path of Sion’s hand.  

The ‘real’ space, hidden beneath the blood ritual, appeared.  

Sion murmured.  

“So this was never the first floor to begin with.”  

At some point, Sion had already descended underground.  

That’s why he had encountered the figure dressed as a maid just coming up.  

A narrow passage opened.  

The barrier structure couldn’t be completely dismantled.  

Doing so would alert the Apostle of Blood.  

Right now, Sion was covered in the vampire lord’s blood, and he had also mimicked the woman’s divine power pattern.  

It was impossible for the Apostle of Blood to detect him.  

‘The Commander of the Order of the Holy Sword will figure it out somehow.’

Sion stepped into the deep darkness.  

But he wasn’t afraid.  

Even endless darkness felt like broad daylight compared to the colors of the Goddess of War.  

For the true power of the Goddess of War was the color of the universe that devours even darkness itself.  

In the darkness, the stench of rotting blood pierced his lungs.  

This was a path undetectable from within the castle.  

A passage impossible to find through the senses of a living body.  

Like a blood vessel leading into a heart.  

‘At the end of this path lies the Apostle of Blood.’

Sion sensed that today was the day to finally end his long entanglement with the Blood Cult.  

Sion moved forward silently, his footsteps light.  

On the walls hung decaying body parts, like grotesque decorations.  

Incomplete experimental subjects. Remnants as if someone had taken a bite and discarded them.  

The husks left behind after the Blood Cult had drained every drop of blood.  

Each time he passed one, Sion’s teeth clenched.  

Finally, Sion’s feet stopped.  

The structure of the space had changed.  

‘Found it.’

A dome-shaped hall filled with blood.  

At its center lay a man, half-collapsed, eyes closed.  

His voice echoed.  

“You’re back already, Magenta.”

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