Silent Night (4)
The Grand Apostle had no name.
The apostles referred to him as “Grand Apostle.” The lower cultists and thugs didn’t even dare to address him directly.
His enemies had a variety of names for him, but none of them included his true name.
And that was only natural.
Because he had no name.
Twenty years ago, the Grand Apostle had offered his name to a dark god in exchange for power.
“Even after all these years, I remember that moment vividly.”
It was unforgettable.
The ritual where he sacrificed his entire being.
The soul-crushing agony that felt like his very essence was being bleached to gray was more horrific than anything he had ever experienced.
But it wasn’t just the pain that made that day unforgettable.
There was another reason: curiosity.
“Who was I?”
As his existence was offered up with the pain, his memories from before the ritual burned away like ash in the wind.
Why did he come to hate this city so much?
What past humiliations and pains had he endured?
The memories that drove him to the brink, forcing him into a pact with a dark god, were all gone.
All that remained was a blind hatred and fury directed at the seven walls of Falcion and the Golden Palace.
The Grand Apostle of the “Weaver of Fate.”
His identity was singular.
”…If only there had been a warrior like this in the Bronze District back then.”
The Grand Apostle mused.
It would be a lie to say he never envied the lives of other mortals with their colorful names.
If the great warrior before him had existed in his past, would his life have turned out differently?
Perhaps the gnawing pain of oblivion that had plagued him for twenty years wasn’t his only option.
“Well, it’s all irrelevant now.”
They say heroes are forged in times of chaos.
The warrior before him was indeed a hero, enough to make even a divine apostle like him entertain such thoughts.
Single-handedly, the warrior had slain all the Silver Mask Apostles and thoroughly crushed the grand plan he had been preparing for over a decade.
With superhuman strength, masterful combat skills, mysterious knowledge, and foresight that bordered on precognition, it was no wonder the gods took notice of him.
“But the world is not kind to heroes. This warrior’s path ends here.”
The Grand Apostle watched the warrior with detached eyes, emotions scattering like mist.
Crack—
A fist swung, shattering a tentacle.
Boom!
The warrior’s foot stomped down, severing the tentacle.
In an instant, several tentacles were neutralized, but behind them stood dozens more, like a wall of steel.
Even the few that were destroyed quickly regenerated and lunged again while the warrior was busy with others.
Huff.
The warrior’s breathing was ragged.
He was nearing his limit.
Seeing the inevitable conclusion, the Grand Apostle shook his head and closed his eyes.
And then, in that moment.
”…Hmm?”
Suddenly, the air shifted.
Sssss—
The flow of magic centered around the Hell Gate warped strangely around the warrior.
As if something was blocking it, as if some pressure was bearing down on that space.
The Grand Apostle’s eyes, observing the distorted flow, soon pierced through the warrior’s body.
Thump.
His heart pounded fiercely.
The boiling blood infused with the essence of a dragon filled every muscle in his body.
Outwardly, the warrior appeared still.
Like a rock rooted to the earth, unmoving.
”…This is…”
But the Grand Apostle could sense it.
That stillness was the prelude to a massive explosion.
“Body of the demon, protect me!”
He hastily halted his attack, summoning all of Arachne’s tentacles.
The demon’s body formed a layered barrier, and the remaining tentacles aimed for the warrior, seeking any opening.
But it wasn’t enough.
Instinct screamed it.
“Enaksa—Obe!”
The Grand Apostle quickly formed a seal and uttered his final incantation.
And at that moment.
Whoosh—
The warrior, who had stood like a rock, thrust his fist forward.
Not a magical explosion or a wave of divine power, just a single punch.
And moments later.
Rumble—
Thunder shook the temple.
Crash—
The pressure surged like a tidal wave, shredding the demon’s body, which even the tower’s spells couldn’t withstand.
The storm of steel-like flesh swallowed the shockwave, tearing the Grand Apostle’s body into a spray of blood and flesh.
At the eye of the storm.
The warrior, tall and broad like someone from the North, with a mane of wild hair, stood with his arm outstretched, his gaze unwavering as he looked at the Grand Apostle’s face amidst the storm.
“How… with mere human strength…”
Crack!
And a shard of the steel tentacle struck the Grand Apostle’s face.
It was the last sight he ever saw.
”…Hoo.”
Dalen let out a long sigh. He glanced at his outstretched right arm.
Sizzle—
Shattered bones. Dislocated muscles.
Blood gushed out, steaming, while exposed veins and nerves repeatedly connected and disconnected.
Damn. This hurts like hell.
Muscles and bones creaked as they settled back into place.
Dalen remained in his punching stance for a while.
It might have looked like a scene from a comic where the hero strikes a pose after defeating the villain.
”…Damn it.”
But in reality, he was just trying to avoid moving, as any movement would double the pain.
Sizzle…
Finally, the shattered bones found their center again.
The muscles returned to their rightful places.
Only when he saw the rough skin covering them did Dalen lower his trembling arm.
”…Hoo.”
He let out another short sigh. Steam escaped like a locomotive.
Naturally, it wasn’t just his arm that was in bad shape.
His insides were already a mess, churning as they continued to heal.
“That was a close gamble.”
Dalen reviewed the fight objectively.
If his mastery of the dragon’s regenerative factor hadn’t improved.
Or if his minimum stamina hadn’t supported it.
Dalen might have lost consciousness the moment he threw that punch.
“Cough!”
He spat out a mouthful of blood, resolving once more.
He needed to increase his stamina to balance his body.
Step.
Dalen slowly walked forward. It was time to finish things.
The dragon’s blood boasted monstrous regenerative power, but the demon’s was even greater.
The Grand Apostle’s body, nearly torn to shreds, was reassembling, with the heart and a few vital organs reconnecting.
A heart thumping on the cold stone floor, spewing hot blood.
Crushing that heart would end this battle.
Dalen placed his foot on the heart. Beneath his torn leather shoe, he felt the hot, squishy texture.
Just as he was about to press down, a dying voice spoke.
“Do you know why the lowest of us wear black masks?”
Dalen paused. He looked up in the direction of the voice.
Amidst the shattered tentacle fragments, the Grand Apostle’s head remained.
It wasn’t a whole head.
The face was shattered above the nose, with a third of the brain and skull missing.
The lungs connected to the windpipe were only half intact.
The fact that he could speak, even in a wheezing voice, was due to the magic in the demon’s blood.
“The black mask… represents the Golden Palace. The highest palace becomes the lowest, and the lowest bronze rises to the highest… that’s the reverse order we establish under the god’s will.”
Dalen lifted his foot from the heart. He looked at the toothless mouth with a blank expression.
The Grand Apostle leaving a dying message was a cutscene he had never seen before. There might be some useful information.
“Since you’re listening to my last words… I’ll share a truth I heard from the god. The black mask represents the Golden Palace because diamond is no different from graphite.”
The Grand Apostle mumbled with his mangled lips, slowly continuing.
“The most noble thing is, in fact, no different from the most base ash. How paradoxical is that? But the world is that paradoxical, and fate follows such a predetermined flow. Remember that, great warrior… your fate as well.”
“Bullshit. How is that paradoxical?”
Dalen snorted. Blood pooled in his nasal cavity flowed out.
“Diamond and graphite are both carbon compounds. Where does fate come into that?”
”…What?”
The Grand Apostle’s mouth made a deflated sound.
Dalen scratched his head. His fingertips came away with dried blood.
Blood and demon ichor had splattered all over him. It was uncomfortable.
“They’re both made of carbon, just with different structures. Graphite has atoms stacked like sheets, and diamond is tightly bonded. Even if it’s a dark god, it’s still called a god. Didn’t it teach you that?”
”…”
The split lip could no longer utter a word. Dalen let out a deep sigh.
“This world is a mess. What’s the point of blowing up mountains and overturning rivers with magic if there’s no science?”
“All this talk about fate and destiny is nonsense. What you’re describing is just physics, plain and simple. Predetermined fate is a load of crap.”
Dalen shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
He had hoped to glean something from this unfamiliar scene, but in the end, there was nothing to gain.
He placed his foot back down. Even now, his heart was pumping blood to the head of the grand priest.
One last word wouldn’t hurt, he thought, and opened his mouth.
“In my opinion, what the Creator gave humans is free will. Not a life shackled by destiny. Your fate was your choice, Talebino Saikal, the exiled from the Golden Palace.”
“How, how do you know my name…?”
Crack!
There was no answer. The grand priest’s heart burst under Dalen’s foot.
The lips, which had been twitching as if in a spasm, trembled and then fell slack, the tongue lolling out.
Dalen scratched his head again, feeling a bit awkward.
“I didn’t expect such a reaction just from reciting an NPC name I saw in the game’s side settings.”
Had he shocked the guy on his way to the afterlife? Adding a spoonful of pseudo-philosophy on top of it all left him feeling uneasy.
Honestly, he wasn’t the Creator, so how could he know what was given to humans?
“Well, that’s one thing settled.”
Dalen muttered to himself.
He finally understood why protagonists in novels tend to talk to themselves after overcoming great trials.
It’s a way to acknowledge their own deeds.
To affirm that they had overcome a thread of destruction.
That they had prevented the massacre of tens of thousands with their own power.
“Tsk.”
Dalen clicked his tongue and moved on.
He felt as if some imaginary reader was watching, ready to leave a nasty comment about him talking to himself.
After the grand priest’s death, two bodies appeared.
One was the muscular form of a warrior, and the other was a robed figure with a silver mask covering its face.
The only thing they had in common was that their limbs had been severed to prevent them from escaping the altar.
Both had been offered as living sacrifices, absorbed by the grand priest.
Dalen spat on the ground in distaste and collected the two bodies.
[Corpse of the Sixth Silver Mask Apostle]
The first was the corpse of the Silver Mask Apostle.
Reading the description, Dalen rubbed his throbbing temples.
“What a complete psycho.”
Even during stressful times, freezing and breaking people’s limbs was the work of a psychopath.
Now that the game had become reality, it was hard to see it as anything but madness.
Good riddance, you bastard.
Dalen offered a sincere farewell to his past self and placed his hand on the corpse.
[You have collected the corpse of the Sixth Silver Mask Apostle. You inherit its abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Dexterity +1, Magic +1, Rapid Freezing (D)]
The rewards were decent.
He gained a spell from a different school and boosted his lacking stats.
Dalen moved on to the next body.
[Corpse of the Captured Great Warrior]
The corpse of the great warrior, eyes wide open even in death.
The ashen body, with its severed limbs, dissolved into light and was absorbed into his hand.
[You have collected the corpse of the Captured Great Warrior. You inherit its abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Strength +4]
What the… Strength?
Dalen’s eyes widened at the reward.
“This is insane.”
Crack!
And then his entire body convulsed as his muscles twisted.