Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 27

Ch.27 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“…To think I’d hear that name here.”  

Sion’s breath turned cold.  

The genius whom Master Garfenn had once considered his successor.  

The next Apostle whom the Goddess of War herself had favored.  

Yet one day, suddenly, she abandoned Garfenn and joined the Church of Wisdom—a traitor.  

Garfenn had only explained it as due to Arwen’s change of heart, so Sion knew nothing of the deeper details.  

“Although the bishop did mention it might have been because of restrictions placed on the War Cult…”  

In any case, that name had now reached Sion, entangled with these horrific atrocities.  

It would be interesting to see Holt’s reaction once Sion revealed he was a War disciple.  

For now, Sion concealed his identity and asked:  

“Arwen… did you imprison and torture these women because of that person? Why? What for?”  

Sion’s voice trembled low with anger, though he struggled to conceal his emotions.  

Yet the horrific scene before his eyes and the twisted madness gnawed steadily at his composure.  

Holt rubbed his face, briefly regaining control over his turbulent emotions. His gaze still wandered somewhere detached from reality.  

Bang! Suddenly, he roared again.  

“Horrors? Haha… horrors? The real horror is what that wench Menesia did to me! Say it right!”  

Good heavens.  

Holt, seemingly completely insane, cursed and blasphemed the name of the Goddess of Wisdom.  

In extreme agitation, he foamed at the mouth while defaming both Arwen and the Goddess of Wisdom. It was unbearable, enough to make one want to cover their ears.  

Sion shouted back.  

“These women have nothing to do with it!”  

“What? Haha… haha…”  

Holt’s eyes gleamed eerily. He glared at Sion as if to kill him.  

“You know nothing. You understand nothing. If you heard what Arwen did to me, you’d agree with what I’ve done!”  

No matter what he heard, Sion would never agree.  

He bit back the words he wanted to say and instead asked:  

“…Let’s hear it then.”  

“Young man, do you have so much free time?”  

Holt sneered at Sion like an irritable old man. His sanity seemed to flicker in and out.  

“If you listen to my entire story, you’re as good as dead.”  

Sion, for now, humored Holt and continued speaking.  

“I came here to hear your story. If you have any grievances, please tell me.”  

“Thank you, young man. Weren’t you an academy cadet? If you’re an aspiring knight, you’d do well to listen carefully to my tale…”  

Without realizing it, Sion had become an academy cadet in Holt’s eyes, and went along with it.  

Holt began reminiscing about the past with tearful eyes.  

“I served in the Church of Wisdom for 25 years. From the moment a clueless man lost his wife and found salvation in the light of reason. I devoted everything to that damn Menesia.”  

Holt had longed for a way to repay the Goddess of Wisdom who had saved him. He discovered his talent with the sword.  

To wield the sword for the Church of Wisdom.  

To protect the disciples, to destroy monsters.  

To safeguard the empire’s boundaries, to preserve peace.  

That was what Holt had done for 25 years.  

“Naturally, I rose to become the Deputy Commander of the Scales Knights, the pride of the Church of Wisdom. It was glorious. The feeling of serving the Goddess closely is unforgettable. You’re young, so you probably don’t understand yet.”  

Sion wanted to retort, but decided against it. Arguing with a mentally unstable man was pointless and childish.  

With the imprisoned women still locked away, Tier’s younger sister sobbing, and Tier glaring at Holt in fury, Holt continued his heartfelt tale.  

“I was happy. I had received the Goddess’s grace, and all that remained was to get even closer.”  

“…You mean the Commander position?”  

“Sharp cadet. Yes! Commander. That damn commander! How hard I worked to earn that position! It should have naturally become mine with time. The leader of the Scales Knights should have been me! I was meant to protect the priestess and the Church! I was the one destined to be the Church’s shield!”  

—But!  

Crack!  

Holt struck the wall in rage. Blood seeped from his hand, but he ignored it, desperately appealing to Sion. Shattered stone fragments fell clattering down.  

He panted heavily, seemingly agitated, and even speaking a little had left him breathless—his health clearly poor.  

“Then one day, that girl suddenly appeared. Called a potential Apostle of Wisdom, she was appointed Commander of the Scales Knights—over my head!”  

She wasn’t even originally from the Church of Wisdom.  

She was a girl swordsman raised in another Cult—the War Cult.  

A child from another order was suddenly brought in, made an apostle, and given a high-ranking position.  

“Why? Why?! What did Menesia think of my devotion?”  

Holt’s eyes flickered with rage.  

“Do you understand? Huh? This absurd treatment?”  

It was hard to understand.  

After 25 years of effort, to have the moment of fulfillment snatched away—of course it would feel unjust.  

“It must have been painful. But—”  

Holt cut Sion off.  

“See! I told you you’d understand! I was furious. I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake for a full week. Damn it! I simply couldn’t accept it!”  

“…”  

“So I challenged her. I staked my honor and the Commander’s position on it—against that damned girl!”  

Sion remained silent, and Holt stepped closer.  

He noticeably limped.  

His body bore no unscarred spot.  

“Can you see? This is the result. I didn’t even graze her clothes before I was defeated. My ankle tendons were severed so I’d never run again, and my left arm rendered useless. Hah, hahaha!”  

Holt laughed hysterically. His lament echoed through the cave.  

“It’s unfair. It’s so unfair. I thought I was a genius. Everyone acknowledged it. I had talent with the sword! But… it turns out there was a real genius after all.”  

Holt clenched his fist tightly. His unkempt nails drew blood from his palm.  

“Isn’t it meaningless? Twenty-five years of effort, rendered worthless. No matter how much you dedicate your life, they just bring in some genius from the gutter and seat her as Commander! A girl who can’t even speak properly!”  

Sion frowned.  

He thought the way Holt expressed his inferiority complex was wrong.  

“If that was the Goddess’s will, you should have followed it. Were you serving the Goddess only in hopes of reward? That doesn’t seem like proper faith to me.”  

“Shut up!”  

Holt’s eyes flared with madness. He gripped his sword tightly and said:  

“I will reclaim my place. I must take back what was rightfully mine!”  

“…And your method is kidnapping the priestess?”  

“Yes! Exactly! The upcoming priestess revelation—this time, I will accomplish it myself. If I bring the priestess of Wisdom, the Church will accept me again, and they’ll give me the Commander’s position! What do you think? Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? Isn’t it?”  

In the end, the shock of betrayal after years of effort had ruined this man.  

His obsession had twisted into madness, irreversible.  

Levert, who had served faithfully under Holt, might have understood his dedication so well that he couldn’t bring himself to stop him.  

Holt grabbed Sion’s shoulder and asked.  

He still seemed to view Sion as nothing more than an academy cadet.  

“Even so, Sir Holt—”  

“What I’ve done is salvation. Preparation for the coming revelation. The foundation for receiving the reward of my devotion. A sacred ritual to reclaim the Goddess’s love, stolen by impurities like Arwen!”  

Holt’s voice grew increasingly fervent, filled with fanatical conviction.  

His logic was twisted, yet he himself seemed to harbor not a shred of doubt.  

It was the dangerous madness of one who firmly believed his actions were righteous.  

“Don’t use the Goddess’s name to justify torture and abuse. It’s disgusting.”  

Holt fell silent at Sion’s sharp rebuke.  

He stared coldly at Sion.  

The atmosphere shifted.  

“…You. You’re not a cadet. You’re an assassin. Sent by Arwen. Huh, must be scared, aren’t you? If I take the priestess of revelation, your position will be in danger. Yeah! Of course!”  

His mind wavering, he arbitrarily deduced Sion’s identity.  

This was already the umpteenth assumed identity.  

Sion inwardly clicked his tongue.  

“Well, something like that.”  

Sion replied indifferently.  

Slowly, Holt drew an old sword from his waist.  

The blade, poorly maintained, was rusted in patches, yet strangely, it held a faint glow.  

“Tell me. Do you believe in the Goddess? Is your feeble faith truly sincere? More than mine? Do you have the right to call my belief misguided?”  

Sion hesitated at the question.  

“Do I… truly believe in the Goddess? Sincerely? Could I devote myself as much as this man? My sacred power was ultimately obtained as a reward, not forged by my own faith.”  

Had he never believed or devoted himself as much as Holt, never strived as hard—was that why he couldn’t fully understand Holt’s heart?  

Though not intentional, Sion felt slightly uneasy under Holt’s piercing words.  

“Anyone who truly believes in that whore Menesia is a fool. Look at me. I bowed my head so deeply, yet all I received was betrayal. Discarded like an old rag.”  

Holt sneered.  

“Wake up. Young man. I hope you don’t waste your time like I did. This is sincere advice.”  

“Sir Holt. Just one last question.”  

“Ask whatever you want.”  

Sion asked to settle his inner turmoil.  

“Do you still believe in the Goddess of Wisdom, whom you resent and hate so deeply? Judging by your words, there’s no reason to return, is there? Unless you dream of revenge.”  

“Haha… hahaha.”  

Holt lowered his head deeply, his shoulders shaking.  

Sssss…..  

Then, the cave filled with a deep blue light.  

“That light?”  

Sion was momentarily stunned, breath caught in his throat.  

The light emanating from Holt’s sword was intensely powerful.  

“Always.”  

Holt gazed wistfully at the deep blue blade as he confessed.  

“I never lost faith, not even for a single moment.”  

“You…”  

Sion’s expression darkened.  

Yet contrary to his confession, the deep blue sacred power was not that of the Goddess of wisdom.  

Holt’s sacred power was a corrupted blue, darkened and twisted, having lost its true essence.  

“I believed without a doubt that my Goddess abandoned me only to entrust me with a greater task. I will find the next priestess of the Church of Wisdom myself. That false priestess of Menesia! I will! I myself will!”  

He didn’t hate the Goddess of wisdom.  

He loved her too much—so much that he had twisted.  

Even if he felt abandoned by the Goddess, he still clung tightly to his own warped faith.  

Holt, extremely agitated and panting heavily, shouted at Sion:  

“Now it’s your turn. Brat. Prove it. You who accuse me of being wrong—prove that your faith is greater than mine. That you love Menesia more than I do?”  

As Holt raised his sword, the deep blue light eerily illuminated the cave.  

A fallen knight still wielding the Goddess’s power.  

His contradictory form was deeply unsettling.  

“Who is wrong? The Goddess still answers me! That is proof my path is correct! The Goddess intends to grant me the priestess! I have not been abandoned!”  

Holt’s provocation was more than mere mockery—it was a defiant challenge thrown by one whose beliefs had become twisted.  

Sion closed his eyes.  

Inside, he gathered his thoughts.  

The inner turmoil gradually subsided, growing as still as a tranquil lake.  

“I don’t really understand the Goddess’s love.”  

But he had learned that faith takes many forms.  

‘Even if greatly distorted, it is still faith. Even if one does not believe, if one acts, that too is faith.’ 

He realized that faith, even if not deeply believed in the heart like his own, could still be acknowledged by the Goddess—even if it were hypocrisy, even if it were mere action.  

“I hate anything painful. I’ll just keep going, in my own way.”  

Sion opened his eyes.  

His blue gaze gleamed coldly.  

Whoosh!  

As Sion took a deep breath, the air around him began to vibrate faintly.  

Dong, dong.  

His heartbeat resonated like the deep, powerful drumbeats of a battlefield.  

Dark energy began to rise from the tip of his blade.  

At first like a tiny spark, it quickly engulfed the entire sword like roaring flames.  

It was a black unlike Holt’s deep blue—a fierce, overwhelming darkness that seemed to devour everything.  

The sacred power of the Goddess of War, symbolizing pure destructive will and unyielding fighting spirit.  

Kwaaaaa!  

A wave of black energy exploded outward, pushing back the blue light that had filled the cave.  

Darkness and foul stench were instantly driven away, replaced by intense heat and a sharp, steel-clashing aura spreading in all directions.  

Sion’s sword sparkled like a living night sky, and his pupils burned with determination.  

“That light. Could it be…!”  

For the first time, shock and disbelief flickered across Holt’s face.  

The women in the prison, overwhelmed by the intense light, shrank back, yet looked at Sion with trembling eyes—eyes that had glimpsed a spark of hope.  

Tier involuntarily held his breath.  

The overwhelming aura emanating from Sion was beyond mere strength—it was the very dignity of a divine agent.  

Radiating sacred power like holy flames, Sion pointed his sword at Holt.  

“So you’re from that damned Cult. No wonder you reek. Did your Cult decide to ruin my life? Huh?”  

“What you’ve done cannot be forgiven. Forcibly creating a priestess… Just die here and now.”  

“Come. Brat.”  

Holt grinned savagely.  

Sion charged.  

Flash!  

Twisted beliefs clashed with fierce intensity.

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