Apostle of the Goddess of War

Chapter 90

Ch.90 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“Trying to cut off the financial lifeline first—how ruthless.”  

Are they planning to slowly strangle us to death?  

Sion stood on a hill, scanning the horizon.  

Since Apur left, the sun had already set.  

Dark storm clouds were gathering in the distance.  

Sion rubbed his dry, tired eyelids.  

It wasn’t easy constantly reassuring Apur either.  

Someone who only cared about money had to be guaranteed greater profit.  

And coincidentally, the Deogel territory also needed reconstruction.  

This was a time when massive funds were required, so things had worked out reasonably well.  

One problem had been resolved.  

He was beginning to vaguely understand the Wisdom Cult’s methods.  

They were far more cunning and sinister than he had imagined.  

Rather than direct conflict, their strategy seemed to be cutting off limbs and breaking the enemy’s will first.  

“And then they’ll appear at the end.”  

When resistance is no longer possible.  

To deliver the final, easy killing blow.  

“I won’t let that happen.”  

This was another form of war.  

The Wisdom Cult had started the fight first.  

He had no intention of sitting still and taking it.  

This was the territory of the War Cult.  

If they dared to intrude so brazenly, they’d better be prepared for the consequences.  

He would make them remember clearly what kind of place Elim was, and whose sacred land it belonged to.  

“Come at me, then.”  

Ssssss.  

The black divine power surrounding Sion writhed.  

It rose sharply from his entire body, standing up like spikes and taking on a deadly, thorn-like form—as if to declare that anyone who dared touch Elim would never leave unscathed.  

***  

Sion visited Bishop Gustein in the middle of the night.  

Gustein was drinking alone, deeply focused on his work.  

“Oh, Sion. What brings you here at this late hour?”  

“I have a few questions.”  

“Come, sit. Want a drink?”  

“…No, thank you.”  

Sion slumped onto the sofa. His body felt heavy, like a waterlogged sponge. He wanted nothing more than to surrender to gravity and collapse completely.  

“I need to identify Elim’s current weaknesses.”  

He didn’t know when or how the Wisdom Cult would attack.  

Preemptive prevention was necessary.  

He wanted to establish a perfect defense.  

Only then could he launch a counterattack with peace of mind.  

Initiative was a good tactic, but timing and location mattered.  

“You look exhausted.”  

“Yeah, I am.”  

“That’s how you look.”  

“Is that so?”  

“Garfenn always came to see me with that haggard face too.”  

“What kind of worries did Master usually have?”  

“He was often tormented by nightmares.”  

Gustein continued, downing another shot of strong liquor.  

“Nightmares of losing his family—over and over, even in his dreams.”  

“…I see.”  

“It’s a psychological trauma that prayer alone can’t resolve.”  

Garfenn needed help every night.  

“Though now he has a lover to comfort him, back then, I was the only one he had.”  

“That’s unfortunate.”  

“Yes, it was.”  

Sion asked,  

“How did you help him?”  

“I told him to just keep cutting. Exhaust his body so thoroughly that he wouldn’t have room for useless thoughts.”  

“…Not exactly good advice.”  

“Well, I’m no expert.”  

Sion chuckled.  

It was advice fitting for a bishop of the War Cult.  

And Garfenn, following it, truly lived up to being a master.  

“He became famous that way. Cut, and cut again. Get injured, grow tired, keep killing. The nightmares shaped Garfenn.”  

Sion felt sorrow anew for his master’s life.  

Even when he had borrowed Garfenn’s inner world, he had sensed it—the path Garfenn walked was a thorny, solitary road paved only with wounds and loneliness.  

Even that brief borrowing had left significant aftereffects. Even now, recalling Garfenn’s inner world made Sion’s chest ache.  

“Well, I’m glad he’s found some peace now. I’d love to hear news of a pregnancy soon.”  

“Didn’t you send a letter?”  

“Anna wants to surprise him.”  

“Oh, then of course.”  

Gustein refilled his glass.  

It was high-quality liquor Apur had brought as a gift during his visit.  

“Alright, speak. Heir to the apostle. What burden weighs on you?”  

“…Elim’s current vulnerabilities.”  

“Hmm. A constructive and fresh question—unlike Garfenn’s.”  

Sion shrugged.  

Gustein’s eyes, watching him, flickered in the candlelight.  

“It’s because of the Wisdom Cult, isn’t it?”  

“Yes. Their method of attack is unusual, so our response must be different too.”  

“Indeed, you’re truly a warrior of the War Cult. You’re approaching this as a war.”  

“Of course. This is a war.”  

Gustein pressed his wrinkled forehead with his fingers.  

“Kaili… I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’ve been troubled too. I’ve actually been reviewing that matter. We can’t let her go. Not to that snake-like Cult.”  

Sion smiled.  

He wasn’t alone in worrying and fighting.  

In fact, Gustein cared for Elim even more deeply than Sion did.  

He had once been a War Knight himself. His mindset was different from the start.  

“There are actually three aspects I’d consider Elim’s weaknesses.”  

“What are they?”  

“Funds, combat strength, and security.”  

Gustein stood and looked out the window.  

Tuk, tuduk.  

Thick raindrops began striking the windowpane.  

The dark clouds that had gathered since sunset were finally pouring down.  

“Funds were resolved through cooperation with Foils. And today, I grilled Apur thoroughly, so that’s settled too.”  

“Yes.”  

“How do you do it? I’d love to learn your secret.”  

“What’s next?”  

“You cheeky brat.”  

Gustein twisted his mouth into a wry smile.  

He took another drink and continued.  

“Combat strength has been somewhat alleviated by bringing in Kaikeon. It’ll gradually strengthen further. You can consider this solved as well.”  

“Then only security remains. But won’t that be solved once the knights grow stronger?”  

“No, it’s different.”  

Gustein walked to his desk and threw a bundle of papers.  

Pallak— Sion barely caught the documents.  

Hundreds of pages, densely packed with text.  

“Take a look.”  

“Yes.”  

……It didn’t take long for him to understand.  

Why security was an issue.  

Gustein had pinpointed a remarkably sharp point.  

Sion nodded silently, without a word.  

“There are almost no people here with verified backgrounds.”  

“Yes. Most are good people—abandoned by the world, arriving here. But…”  

You couldn’t blindly trust everyone who drifted into Elim.  

This applied even if they weren’t worshippers of an Evil God.  

They could be spies from another Cult.  

Or ordinary people pretending to be refugees with malicious intent.  

“I know you’ve done amazing work. It’s a great achievement.”  

But.  

“Even accounting for that, there are too many refugees. It’s not just a matter of capacity. There’s a risk that dangerous elements have slipped in. It’s too easy to manipulate—this is an extremely vulnerable point.”  

“I understand. There might already be members of the Wisdom Cult among the refugees.”  

“I hope not, but we must be cautious.”  

Sion swallowed hard.  

Certainly, this was a part he hadn’t fully considered.  

Though he had suspected potential risks, it hadn’t occurred to him clearly.  

Gustein had pointed out a crucial flaw.  

“But they’re the Round Table Cult—would they really do something strange? Infiltrate, cause chaos, then kidnap someone? That’d be too cowardly. It would tarnish their Cult’s reputation.”  

“Haha. You’re still so naive.”  

“What?”  

Gustein swirled his glass and smirked.  

“For large Cults, their prestige is power. After extorting smaller Cults like us, how easy is it to make it all disappear as if it never happened?”  

“…I suppose so.”  

“There’s precedent. You know there was a successor before you arrived, right?”  

Sion’s heart pounded.  

“Arwen, was it?”  

“Yes. Do you think we willingly let her go?”  

“Didn’t she willingly go to the Wisdom Cult?”  

“Yes. But there’s no result without a cause.”  

Suddenly, Gustein’s eyes burned with fury.  

The candlelight reflected in his retina danced wildly.  

“Our Goddess was in a period of severe restrictions. Garfenn was still struggling at the time. She lacked the power to block other Goddesses’ influence.”  

“…Can they do that?”  

“They can. The power and authority of the Round Table Goddesses are beyond fear.”  

“Night after night, the Goddess of Wisdom, Menesia, appeared in Arwen’s dreams and planted ideas. She perfectly portrayed the world she dreamed of.”  

Sion’s fists trembled. It was a disgusting story.  

“So we lived unaware that our heir to the apostle was being slowly brainwashed. Then one day, she said she was leaving. By the time we realized, it was too late.”  

Sion pressed his temples.  

The Goddess Menesia didn’t seem much different from an Evil God.  

“The Goddess of wisdom doesn’t favor direct conflict. She takes what she wants through loopholes disguised as wisdom.”  

“So they’re using a similar method now.”  

“Yes. There won’t be a head-on clash. Probably.”  

Perhaps the situation was even more dangerous than Sion had imagined.  

The Goddess of wisdom’s methods and influence were terrifying.  

Even now, she might be appearing in Kaili’s dreams, doing who knows what…  

“Will Kaili be alright?”  

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve confirmed her safety multiple times. Our Goddess has guaranteed it.”  

“…That’s a relief.”  

“After all, she’s a vessel for a priestess. As long as she’s within Elim, other Goddesses can’t easily approach her. That’s why they’ll resort to schemes to take her directly.”  

Sion’s thoughts turned to the refugees.  

He needed to investigate that direction.  

“Then, disguising themselves as refugees to kidnap Kaili would be the most Wisdom-Cult-like method.”  

“If you think like them, you’re getting close to the right answer.”  

Gustein tilted his glass.  

“Refugees who arrived in the past month are being managed in a separate, designated area.”  

“Exactly!”  

“That’s quite an intense reaction. I can guess what kind of look you’re giving me.”  

Gustein mocked everyone, friend or foe, without discrimination.  

Sion found this irritable bishop strangely endearing.  

“What look? I think you’re a wonderful leader guiding Elim!”  

“Slather some honey on your words and lie all you want.”  

“Hehe.”  

Sion bowed.  

“Thank you. I’m grateful you’re preparing on my behalf.”  

“Don’t misunderstand, kid. I’m not doing this for you. It’s my duty. I love Elim more than you do.”  

“Yes, that’s true.”  

Sion smiled.  

He wasn’t the only one protecting Elim.  

And he had nearly made a big mistake.  

“Tomorrow, take Kaili with you and go to the screening area.”  

“Can Kaili identify them?”  

“Well, she probably sees more than we do.”  

“I suppose so.”  

“I can’t go. If Arwen is among them, she might sense me and flee.”  

A reasonable judgment.  

This was Sion’s responsibility.  

In a crisis, someone who could swiftly draw a blade and eliminate the spy was better suited.  

“By the way, Arwen is beautiful. Her silver hair, like molten platinum, was stunning.”  

“What?”  

“And she’s a crybaby. You’ll know as soon as you see her.”  

“…A beautiful crybaby. I’ll know at a glance. I’ll check carefully and report back.”  

“Good. Now go, if you’re done.”  

“Yes.”  

Sion opened the door. Then, turning back, he called out to Gustein.  

“Bishop.”  

“What?”  

“Try drinking less.”  

“Aren’t you leaving?”  

Kung.  

***  

“Madam Arwen.”  

“An-ta-ri-usssss! We agreed to drop the ‘Madam,’ didn’t weee…!”  

“Ah, sorry.”  

“Get a grip. We’re on a mission. We didn’t come here to play.”  

“Sorry. Selana…”  

Inside the temporary tent in the screening area.  

Three families resided there—  

They had infiltrated Elim with a critical mission.  

And they had succeeded.  

Elim accepted many refugees. No one had been scrutinized and turned away.  

The process had been so easy that Antarius, the Libra Knight, had let his guard down for a moment.  

“Dad.”  

Arwen, the Apostle of wisdom, glared at Antarius.  

With swollen eyes from crying and praying every night.  

“Focus.”  

“S-sorry… no, I’m sorry, daughter. Hrmph.”  

“The husband should be the strong pillar at times like this.”  

In case anyone might overhear, the three continued acting as a family even at night.  

“Mom. The mirror isn’t broken, is it?”  

At her daughter Arwen’s question, Selana, playing the mother, took out a hand mirror.  

She checked her own face and answered.  

It was still someone else’s face.  

The cognitive interference was working perfectly.  

“No, it’s fine.”

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