Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 143

Ch.143 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“What about my subordinates?”  

Sion glanced back. His two attendants still slumbered peacefully.  

“I can’t leave them behind. They won’t take a single step without me.”  

His voice carried a threat: ‘I’d rather die than abandon my younger sibling and my war knight. It’s my duty as an Apostle.’ 

Tartania glanced at them, shrugged, and her lustrous golden-brown hair swayed slightly—her presence unnervingly vivid.  

“It’d be better if they stayed unconscious. If they wake and face us, their minds will shatter instantly.”  

It sounded plausible.  

Whether she meant to frighten him or not, he couldn’t afford to gamble.  

“There must be a way.”  

“Are you negotiating with me now?”  

The Goddess of Corruption watched him with amused curiosity, as if encountering such an opponent for the first time. She awaited his reply with evident delight.  

Eventually, Sion spoke:  

“If you truly want to help me, you’ll grant me that much cooperation.”  

He reframed negotiation as cooperation.  

Tartania liked his approach—it was persuasive without being forceful.  

“Fine. I’ll store them in my intestines. There might be side effects, but it’s better than letting Sister Magoth take them hostage.”  

“Won’t they be corrupted inside your gut?”  

Sion asked with concern, his expression uneasy.  

After all, he now knew what the Commander of the Order of the Holy Sword endured—and how much Garfenn suffered during that ordeal.  

Tartania’s offer no longer seemed entirely pure.  

“My power of corruption obeys my will. Don’t worry about that.”  

Her voice was calm—clear and steady.  

She dared him to refuse. In truth, Sion had no real choice. His momentary wariness couldn’t change that.  

Alone in the Evil God’s domain, he had to choose—even if reluctantly.  

And if he picked the lesser of two evils, that meant trusting Tartania.  

“Alright. But if anything goes wrong—you know what happens.”  

“Sounds like you’re saying you could kill me anytime you wanted.”  

Tartania snorted. Sion didn’t deny it—because he meant it.  

So he simply stared at her in silence.  

Sometimes, silence spoke louder than clumsy words.  

Tartania’s eyes widened slightly.  

“You’re… serious?”  

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”  

For a fleeting second, Tartania’s gaze turned icy—cold enough to freeze his heart.  

Then she relaxed, smiling again.  

“I promise. Your friends will be safe. And I’ll get Loenhaugter out, one way or another.”  

Sion nodded.  

It wasn’t about trust—it was about gaining the upper hand in their wary dance.  

She might’ve conceded for now, but not letting her control him was what mattered.  

“Excuse me.”  

Tartania stepped before Sion’s companions. With a flourish of her skirt, she engulfed Set.  

“Huh?”  

“Please don’t stare at me oddly through the lens of human customs.”  

“Uh… right.”  

Sion averted his eyes, scratching his cheek.  

Tartania, utterly unfazed by human notions of modesty, proceeded naturally. After swallowing Jien as well with her skirt, she stood before Sion once more.  

With a coquettish tilt of her head, she began walking.  

“Let’s go. We’re late.”  

Sion followed, mind sharpened to a razor’s edge.  

It was hard to stay sane.  

The closer they drew to that place—dubiously called a village—the harder it became to breathe.  

‘What is this?’

Such an utterly ordinary landscape…  

Could this really be where the Evil Gods dwelled?  

“Having trouble breathing?”  

Tartania asked.  

Her white robes fluttered gently. Sion now noticed she was shorter than him—almost like a pretty village girl one might meet in the countryside.  

“…A little.”  

He answered calmly, expecting her to offer some relief.  

Tartania studied him, then nodded.  

“You haven’t been granted Magoth’s permission yet—that’s why it’s hard. It’d be easier if you just accepted her magic.”  

“I’d rather not.”  

That would be betraying Lady Achille.  

Tartania casually suggested corruption as if it were natural—  

Her wicked nature hadn’t vanished despite her supposed surrender. Perhaps it was simply her instinct: the compulsion to corrupt others.  

“A loyal Apostle.”  

Still, she wasn’t forceful. Instead, she lightly tapped Sion’s forearm and asked:  

“How about now?”  

Surprisingly, he felt better—his breath eased, his headache faded.  

“It’s fine now.”  

Tartania resumed walking, hands clasped behind her back, fluttering like a butterfly.  

Sion trailed after her—as if lured by a witch from a fairy tale.  

As he walked, he thought:  

‘I can’t sense Lady Achille’s presence at all. Is this space completely severed from hers?’

Even falling into another’s mental realm felt like this. Much more so in a domain where Evil Gods resided.  

It was only natural that Achille’s power couldn’t reach here.  

‘Is Tartania truly helping me… or is this all to lower my guard?’

Any form of attack would be unsurprising. He had to consider every possibility.  

‘Assume the worst.’

That Tartania’s true goal was still to kill him.  

Planning under that assumption would let him avoid true catastrophe.  

‘And if all else fails… I’ll use that last resort.’

With even his final contingency in mind, Sion kept walking.  

Before he knew it, they’d reached the village’s edge.  

***  

“To think I’d live long enough to see this—Achille, begging for help.”  

Goddess of Wisdom Menesia’s mocking tone made Achille fidget awkwardly.  

“…The situation is dire. We must help each other.”  

Her precious Apostle had vanished. If saving Sion required groveling, she’d do it without hesitation.  

Pride wouldn’t bring him back.  

“Menesia, you’re still being dishonest. That’s not your true intention, is it?”  

Emily, Goddess of Wildflowers, offered a cup of petal-brewed tea. The three goddesses sat together—a meeting unseen for centuries on the mortal plane.  

With the Heavens gone, even their venue for divine council had changed.  

Once, they’d convened in the celestial realm; now, physical travel was necessary. The absence of the Heavenly Gates was sorely felt.  

Menesia took a measured breath before retorting:  

“Emily, for someone hiding in War’s embrace, your words are insolent.”  

“You still bristle like a rose with thorns, Menesia. Couldn’t you just say you’re glad to see me?”  

Emily smiled, unyielding despite her weaker divine power—her eloquence so sharp, it was said her words carried poison like a wildflower’s beauty.  

Even the Goddess of Wisdom found her irksome. Menesia clamped her mouth shut and turned to the more manageable Goddess of War.  

“So—why did you summon us?”  

Achille, looking dejected, stammered:  

“My Apostle is gone. He was traveling to the western archipelago.”  

“Gone? And you, a Goddess, couldn’t sense it?”  

Achille nodded.  

If he’d merely been trapped in a mental realm, the crisis would’ve ended long ago. And Sion rarely lost.  

Yet an unusually long time had passed.  

Not even a faint trace of his presence remained. Even if he’d died, Achille should’ve sensed it instantly.  

The other Goddesses grasped the gravity immediately. If they had suspicions, they needed to share them with Achille.  

Wisdom and Wildflower stood with War.  

Though still distant, both were ready to accept Achille as their Sovereign.  

After a long silence, Emily spoke first, refilling empty cups with floral tea:  

“It’s dimensional. He’s been moved elsewhere entirely.”  

“Dimensional shift?”  

“Yes. Nothing else fits. He must’ve entered a type of mental domain.”  

Menesia sipped her tea, eyes closed, then slowly nodded in agreement.  

“If he vanished suddenly, he must’ve been dragged somewhere.”  

“Somewhere…”  

Achille trailed off, her own vague suspicion confirmed.  

The real challenge was pinpointing that ‘somewhere’—which was precisely why she’d summoned them.  

Menesia, now effectively Achille’s strategist, gave a faint smile.  

“Achille—you said he was heading toward the western archipelago.”  

“Huh? Yes.”  

Achille answered like a drenched puppy.  

“Then Emily, you’d know more about that region than us—you governed the westernmost lands.”  

A sharp observation.  

Emily inhaled the tea’s fragrance, then lapsed into her characteristic calm silence—the aesthetic of the unhurried Wildflower Goddess.  

“I’ve heard rumors,” she finally said, her lips like willow leaves parting.  

“I even caught a passing mention from Elder Sister Eru once. Ah… how I miss her.”  

She wiped away a tear. Many Goddesses remained mired in grief. Healing from such shock would take ages—by both human and goddess standards.  

As she silently mourned Eru, Emily continued:  

“There’s an anomaly in the western archipelago.”  

“An anomaly?”  

“More precisely… Dagonia lingers only in the western archipelago.”  

Achille and Menesia exchanged glances.  

“Dagonia…?”  

“The Deep Sea?”  

“Yes.”  

War and Wisdom were speechless—this defied comprehension.  

“But I sealed that creature myself!”  

Achille was especially baffled.  

She’d personally imprisoned Dagonia in the ocean depths during the Goddesses’ Civil War.  

“That seal couldn’t possibly—Ah.”  

Menesia realized the same truth simultaneously.  

Every recent ‘anomaly’ is clearly linked to Eru’s dissolution.  

If this had occurred in the distant western islands—once beyond the Heavens’ notice—it was no wonder they’d remained unaware.  

“Yes. As Eru weakened, a rift opened.”  

“So Dagonia broke free…”  

Achille let out a hollow laugh. Of all the nuisances to resurface…  

“And if it’s the Deep Sea’s power…”  

Menesia’s deduction followed swiftly:  

“He must’ve been drawn into Dagonia’s domain.”  

The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. Now they only needed proof—and pursuit.  

Confront the Goddess of the Deep Sea, Dagonia. Track Sion’s trail.  

“I’ll go. Thank you both.”  

Achille shot to her feet—but Emily and Menesia held her back.  

“Let’s go together.”  

“Yes. We’ll help.”  

Before she could say, ‘I can manage alone,’ Achille recalled the very advice she’d given her Apostle:  

‘Rely on others. You can’t do this alone.’ 

She now understood—it applied to Goddesses just as much as mortals.  

“I’ll repay this debt someday.”  

The three goddesses exchanged smiles.  

***  

‘What in the world…’

What was going on?  

Sion sat, lost in thought.  

This wasn’t normal. His entire body screamed that something was profoundly wrong.  

A well-prepared meal.  

Warm tea and milk.  

Impossibly beautiful women bustling from the kitchen with dishes.  

‘The Evil Gods are personally serving me food?’

Sion scanned the scene with only his eyes.  

Then his gaze locked with Tartania seated beside him.  

He raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.  

Tartania simply smiled—wordlessly.  

‘Just enjoy it for now.’

Schedule: Every mon, wed, fri and sun

Review at

NovelUpdate