Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 150

Ch.150Apostle of the Goddess of War

Sion seated Loenhaugter amidst a field of wildflowers.

Fragrant blossoms bloomed around them, and fern-like vines slowly coiled around Loenhaugter’s body, gently embracing his form.

“What a curious being you are.”

Marquisin stroked Loenhaugter’s abdomen, speaking softly. He’d brought him here so the Wildflower Cult’s power could cleanse the taint of corruption from his body.

Tartania had vanished with Achille and Menesia to remove her entrails, while Emily guided them to this sacred grove.

Before them stood the World Tree—now so vast it could be seen from the horizon’s edge. Grown from Emily’s heart, it was both the roof sheltering Elim and the Wildflower Cult, and their greatest pride.

“My Goddess must truly care for you. Much has happened, Lord Sion.”

It had been a while since Sion last saw Marquisin.

The knight served as the spiritual pillar of the Wildflower Cult and a steadfast guardian of Elim—tending to Garfenn’s grave was his quiet duty.

Sion and Marquisin, both mourning the same person, needed no lengthy words.

“So you’ve now walked the path of an Apostle.”

“Thanks to you, Sir Marquisin, I carry out my duties with peace of mind. Truly.”

“How could I not? Look at all I’ve endured.”

“You’re also doing remarkably well as Elim’s dedicated physician.”

Marquisin shot him a playful glare.

The Apostle of Wildflowers could barely recall the last time he’d held a sword. To keep his instincts sharp, he trained daily and occasionally sparred with the War Knights as a guest instructor—but there’d been no real battles.

The Goddess of Wildflower had given him no missions. In Elim, all his needs were met, and safety was assured—there was simply no reason to leave.

For Marquisin, ‘combat’ meant tending to wounded knights or sick children.

He’d even begun formalizing his medical knowledge—so Sion couldn’t very well argue. ‘Good enough’ was good enough.

And Emily seemed to approve of her Apostle flourishing in this role.

“Hmm…”

Soon, Loenhaugter opened his eyes. He scanned his surroundings with a weakened, wary gaze.

Sion placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Lord Loenhaugter, don’t be afraid. You’re in Elim’s forest. I rescued you and brought you here.”

“Haa…”

Loenhaugter finally exhaled, relief washing over him despite his disorientation.

“What… what happened to the Evil God of Darkness?”

He stammered—the aftereffects still clouding his mind with dizziness and confusion.

“The Goddess of Wildflower, War, and Wisdom stopped her.”

“I see…”

“And the Fallen Evil God, too. I hid inside her entrails—barely escaped with my life.”

Loenhaugter swallowed hard, his voice grim.

“So it’s come to this… as expected.”

Sion pressed him. “As expected?”

“You rescued me—so you must know who I am.”

Sion nodded.

Loenhaugter was Eru’s legacy—the Living Akasha—and held the key to the Holy Grail shards.

“I possess the power to glimpse all things. In simple terms.”

Hearing it from Loenhaugter himself, Sion realized the Living Akasha’s power surpassed even his expectations—could it even foresee the future?

“I faintly knew what I’d face—like a shard of fate. Even Tartania’s betrayal. That’s why I cultivated our bond—to prepare for this moment.”

Sion’s eyes widened. If Loenhaugter could see this far… could he also see the war’s end?

“Then… what happens next?”

Knowing the future meant preparation—but Sion feared the truth might be painful.

Loenhaugter hesitated, then answered:

“Unfortunately—my vision ends here.”

“What?”

“After meeting you in this flower field and revealing the truth… the fragments of the future vanished. My sight of the cosmos stops here.”

“I see…”

Sion swallowed his disappointment, pondering the limits of Loenhaugter’s power.

“Why… only up to this point?”

Loenhaugter pressed his temples.

“Because… I was born to give my power to you, Sir Sion. That’s my purpose—since the dawn of time.”

Struggling, Loenhaugter rose—though his limbs still shook with weakness.

“We must act now. I’ve lived these decades for this day alone.”

Sion cried out, alarmed.

“But—Sir Loenhaugter!”

Though this was for humanity—Eru’s final gift—he couldn’t bear to watch Loenhaugter vanish so suddenly.

His compassion held the man back.

“Vanish? Don’t be absurd. The Sovereign isn’t so cruel.”

Loenhaugter chuckled, easing the tension—leaving Sion awkwardly flustered.

“Ah, right.”

“Now, just a moment…”

Sweating profusely, Loenhaugter steadied himself. He took a deep breath and summoned his inner power.

A soft white light began to emerge from his chest—warm, radiant, the very light humanity had lost and could scarcely remember.

“Ahh…”

Marquisin knelt, awestruck by this remnant of the Sovereign.

It was Eru’s light.

The Goddess of Light’s grace still lingered in the world. The wildflower field shimmered as if bathed in golden afternoon sun.

Even withered blooms straightened their stems, unfurling petals to greet the radiance.

Light and grace descended upon Elim.

For a fleeting moment, night receded—and day returned.

Elim’s sky brightened instantly, illuminating the world.

“Ah…”

Unbidden, a tear traced Sion’s cheek.

In this land where only starless nights remained, to witness this light again…

Only in its absence did one realize how precious it was—that life-giving radiance.

Elim wept, mourning the grace they’d taken for granted.

As the pillar of light faded and vision cleared—

Before Sion stood an exquisitely wrought Round Table, centered in the garden of wildflowers.

Its sanctity was palpable even without focus.

“Is this… the Round Table?”

“Yes. A replica—a miniature, attuned to the mortal realm.”

Sion stared, mesmerized.

No artisan, no matter how skilled, could replicate this. Not even a tenth.

“Only Goddesses may sit.”

“It seems so.”

Sion dared not even consider taking a seat—it felt sacrilegious. Only those worthy of its sanctity could be granted permission.

Thud.

Loenhaugter collapsed, breath ragged, his face even paler than before.

“Hah… hah… this… concludes… my duty.”

“Sir Loenhaugter…”

Sion cradled his back, offering silent thanks. The burden Loenhaugter carried was immense—beyond measure.

With deep reverence, Sion honored him.

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“Thanks to you, Sir Sion. Now… it’s truly your burden. Everything… rests in your hands. Haa…”

Loenhaugter clutched his chest, clearly exhausted.

Sion asked, concerned: “Are you really alright? You’re not just saying you won’t die to comfort me, are you?”

“I wish to die. Haha. Truly, don’t worry. Rest will restore me.”

Sion crossed his arms, studying him carefully—then concluded:

“You’re just an ordinary human now.”

Loenhaugter managed a weak smile—exasperated, as if to say, “Why won’t you let me rest?”

“Yes. Finally.”

“Then… may I make a formal request? I’d like to recruit you into the War Cult.”

“Must you ask now?”

Sion nodded earnestly.

“We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Lose what?”

“Your intelligence network. We need it.”

Loenhaugter laughed in disbelief. Even now, Sion was sharp as a blade.

‘No wonder Eru chose him.’

He groaned, lying back down—the same pose as when he first awoke.

“Fine. I won’t run.”

“You promise?”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

Sion grinned, patting his shoulder.

“Good! Looking forward to working together!”

“I’ll be in your debt.”

“For now, you’ll receive treatment from Elim’s finest physician—Lord Marquisin of Wildflowers.”

“Huh?”

Sion brushed off his cloak and stood. A major hurdle cleared—and he’d secured Loenhaugter’s network.

‘Preparations are complete.’

The true Holy Grail War was about to begin.

“Sir Loenhaugter—tell me. Where do I go to find the Holy Grail shards?”

Loenhaugter was stunned. Sion meant to leave immediately?

“Close your eyes. Focus. You’ll sense the nearest one.”

Sion did as instructed.

Through his six senses, he perceived a faint, hazy glow.

‘South. Beyond the marshlands… toward the Fire Cult.’

He nodded.

Fate was guiding his steps.  

He’d gather every shard—and become this age’s victor.

“I’ll be back. Leave the rest to you.”

With his cloak swirling, Sion departed the wildflower grove.

The high elf and Eru’s legacy exchanged silent glances—both thinking the same thing:

Sion truly bore the aura of a hero.

After a moment of quiet, Loenhaugter spoke shyly:

“U-um… Doctor… Sir?”

“…Call me Marquisin.”

“I can’t move… could I trouble you for a drink of water…?”

* * *

Sion headed toward the Elim Church.

He’d heard Kaili had just returned.  

He meant to ask how Ruina was—when he found an unexpected guest inside.

“Lady Tartania?”

“Oh! Sion.”

“Hello.”

“Relax. I’m human now.”

Tartania tilted her head, smiling gently. Her kindness made her seem angelic—corruption itself, redeemed.

“But you look unwell.”

Sion sat beside her. Tartania brushed her hair aside.

“Well… I gave up everything. My entrails. Your Goddess showed no mercy—yanked them right out while I screamed in agony. Kyaaah! So painful…”

Sion ignored her exaggerated whining—but didn’t dare imagine the scene.

“My entrails, once purified, will bind to your cloak.”

“R-really?”

Sion gasped. First the Fallen Blade—now the Fallen Entrails?

“Yes. Wear that cloak, and you’ll repel most Magoth. Plus, if you slay demonic beasts and absorb them into the cloak, you’ll gain both their strength and sanctity.”

Sion was speechless. Just hearing it sounded like an ultimate artifact.

“Of course, that’s not all my power—but that’s all I’ll share for now.”

“Thank you, Lady Tartania.”

“I said, drop the honorifics! In Elim, I rank below you now.”

“But you still retain your divinity, right?”

Tartania studied him with a woman’s eyes.

“You’re… really kind-hearted.”

“…”

Before Sion could respond—

“Brother! You’re back?”

Kaili appeared.

***

“I’ve got a tempting offer for you. Want to hear it?”

Marnaki’s question hung in the air. Mago exchanged glances with Blood and Rage.

Sestia and Vilena were desperate. If victory was possible, they’d grasp at any alliance.

Mago nodded.

“Please, Marnaki.”

“Understood.”

Marnaki gave a slight nod—then vanished into the rippling void.

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