Chapter 1

Ch.1 Apostle of the Goddess of War

In an era where the ceaselessly burning flames and the screams of the defeated had vanished, and even the rust had settled on the swords that had penned countless epics—

The Goddess of War broke her long silence and spoke.

[Garfenn, Garfenn. My child.]

‘You called, Goddess.’

The moment the divine voice echoed in his ears, Garfenn stopped what he was doing. He knelt and bowed his head.

Blood dripped from the half-severed neck of the bandit Garfenn had been cutting down.

[At last, I have found it.]

‘Found… what?’

[That. That very thing.]

‘Huh? I’m getting old now, so unless you speak plainly, I won’t understand, Goddess.’

Garfenn thought he heard the goddess sigh.

[My successor.]

‘Huh?’

[You heard right. A successor.]

Garfenn’s mind sharpened, and he asked again.

‘Are you saying there’s another lunatic in this world besides me who chases battlefields and willingly drinks blood?’

This time, the goddess audibly sighed.

[Garfenn, my child. Not a single word of that is wrong, but this goddess feels a little hurt.]

‘It’s fine, Goddess. I’ve been waiting thirty years for a successor, and my cartilage has worn down to nothing. I’m the one who’s hurt.’

The goddess’s voice seemed to lose some of its vigor.

[……Are you serious?]

‘Of course, I’m joking.’

[You’ve grown up, Garfenn. You even dare to jest with a goddess now.]

‘Well, I’m fifty now. At this age, I should’ve been married and playing with grandchildren…’

[Yes, indeed. My great warrior should be doing that by now. It’s time to rest.]

“Time to rest,” Garfenn muttered to himself before asking the question that intrigued him the most.

‘Goddess of War, does my successor truly possess the qualities to become your sword?’

[They do.]

‘Didn’t you say the same thing last time?’

[I was mistaken then. Who could’ve guessed that child would suddenly choose to serve the Goddess of Wisdom?]

‘……’

[With the decline of divine power due to the disappearance of war deities, my apostle must strive harder.]

Garfenn had much to say but kept his mouth shut and bowed his head once more.

‘I have been lacking in serving you properly, Goddess.’

[How kind you are. My Garfenn.]

Garfenn decided to stop joking and asked seriously.

‘What kind of child is it?’

[They possess radiant talent. A martial genius even I envy.]

The Goddess of War, envious?

Garfenn couldn’t believe his ears.

‘I’ve never heard you say such a thing before, Goddess.’

[Indeed. Even I can scarcely believe it.]

The goddess Garfenn served was none other than the Goddess of War.

The Goddess of Blood and Steel.

The Ruler of Battlefields.

The Deity of Combat.

Among all the renowned goddesses, none could rival her in sheer strength.

Naturally, no ‘human’ talent had ever caught the eye of the Goddess of War Achille.

‘……Enough to make even you envious?’

The goddess wouldn’t lie, but Garfenn decided he wouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

He asked something else instead.

The conditions to become the goddess’s apostle.

To confirm both martial talent and character.

‘Are they good?’

[Good. They have the will to use their strength for good.]

‘Perfect.’

[Right?]

The conditions were excellent.

But one concern remained.

The most critical issue.

‘All that’s fine, but… will the successor even want to become an apostle?’

[They will.]

The goddess was adamant.

Garfenn had never seen her so certain before.

‘Why?’

[Because that child was born from war. They hate war more than anyone.]

‘Ah.’

[They will wish for war to vanish from the world.]

An answer that made Garfenn nod involuntarily.

His blood began to boil.

At last, a successor had been found.

A moment to repay all his years of hardship.

Time to repay with unwavering faith.

‘Goddess of War. Where must I go? What is my adorable, precious successor doing right now?’

[Wait where you are. They are coming.]

‘Huh?’

The goddess said no more.

Instead, a merchant caravan appeared in the distance.

***

“Master of the caravan. Look.”

Someone called out to the caravan leader, pointing ahead with a finger.

A giant man blocked the path of the traveling merchants.

‘A bear? No, a man?’

At first glance, the man was so massive he could be mistaken for a wild beast.

His terrifying face was covered in scars, and half his scalp bore no hair, likely due to severe burns. Pus oozed from his remaining hair.

Closer to a beast than a man, his name was Garfenn.

The Apostle of the Goddess of War.

As Garfenn approached, the caravan leader, emboldened by his hired mercenaries, shouted, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Slave trader?”

Garfenn’s sudden question made the slave trader fold his hands respectfully. The mercenaries, too, hesitated to move.

“Y-yes.”

Garfenn ignored the sudden shift to polite speech and glanced around.

“Looking to buy slaves?”

A nod.

With one word and a nod, nearly ten caravan members were overwhelmed.

The slave trader jerked his chin. The prison door opened, and four slaves were dragged out in chains—bound at the neck, wrists, and ankles.

All were children.

“This the lot?”

“Y-yes, just children for now… We’ll fetch the adults later.”

Garfenn ignored the last part and scrutinized the shackled children.

As if selecting food, he examined them meticulously.

“Hmm. It’s this one.”

Garfenn stopped in front of a boy and observed him.

A skinny, scrawny boy of about fifteen or sixteen, with messy hair and eyes sharper than the others. Unlike the rest, he showed no fear.

‘He doesn’t fear me.’

Garfenn crouched to meet the boy’s eye level.

“What’s your name?”

The boy answered in a dry voice.

“……Don’t have one.”

“Where are you from?”

“Karak.”

“Eastern countryside.”

Garfenn grinned, the kind of smile one might wear while skinning a person alive.

“I’m thinking of buying you. Any objections?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded. Garfenn’s eyes widened.

“You do?”

“……If it’s just me, I don’t want to go.”

Slap!

A rough hand struck the boy’s cheek. The slave trader.

“You useless pig! How dare you object! You should be groveling in gratitude!”

“…….”

“Apologize!”

The boy didn’t. Instead, he glared at the slave trader with chilling eyes, as if he’d twist his neck the moment he was free.

‘This kid’s something.’

Unnoticed, Garfenn’s lips curled.

A difference in perspective.

If he were looking for a slave to exploit, this boy would be trash. But Garfenn sought an apostle’s successor.

Fearless and skilled with a blade—that was all that mattered.

“Where does this trash get off glaring—”

The slave trader, unable to contain his rage, pulled a whip from his waist.

The moment he raised it, a chilling aura made him freeze.

Garfenn spoke.

“Hey. Can’t you see I’m talking?”

“……?”

“Why are you laying hands on my property?”

“H-hey! You haven’t paid yet! How is he yours?”

Trembling, the slave trader spat back. It took guts to be a slave trader in this world.

“What nonsense? Why would I pay?”

“What?”

“The moment you stopped before me, everything—you, the slaves, the mercenaries, the wagons—became mine.”

The slave trader’s lips twisted as he cursed.

“You thieving—! Kill him!”

“Mercenaries. Move, and you know what happens.”

The mercenaries didn’t move. They couldn’t from the start.

They knew the moment they showed hostility, their heads would roll.

Their weapons, too, felt unnaturally heavy, as if refusing to be drawn.

Garfenn finally looked away and turned back to the boy.

“You want your friends freed too?”

A nod.

“Good kid.”

Garfenn inwardly gave full marks. His character was better than his own.

“Free them all.”

“……What?”

“I said free them. They’re mine.”

The slave trader gritted his teeth. This was too much.

“You damned bandit—!”

“Sigh.”

Garfenn scratched his head. Killing him would be easiest, but the goddess disapproved of unjust slaughter.

Achille, the Goddess of War, had oddly many restrictions.

There was an effective solution for this.

A sacred duel to settle things.

‘Character, courage. Two conditions met. Now, for combat skill…’

Garfenn grinned and made an offer.

“Fight and win. Then I’ll acknowledge your rights. I’ll leave quietly.”

“That’s absurd—!”

“Not me. Him.”

The slave trader looked at the boy Garfenn pointed to—a frail child who could barely walk. An adult fighting a child was ludicrous.

Yet the slave trader seemed to think it manageable, his expression easing.

“Y-you’re serious?”

“You won’t back out, will you? A grown man against a dying child?”

“Fine! A deal’s a deal!”

“I swear by the goddess.”

Garfenn took the keys and unlocked the boy’s shackles. Then he spoke to him.

“Kid. You have no choice. Fight that slave trader. Win, and I’ll take all your friends as promised. Deal?”

The boy looked at his enslaved friends one by one. All trembled in fear.

He nodded.

“A duel means one must die. That’s my way.”

“Really?”

“What, scared?”

“No. Relieved.”

The unexpected answer made Garfenn blink. Relieved?

“I’d have felt sick if I couldn’t kill him. He hit me and tormented my brother.”

“A man who sells children as slaves deserves death.”

The boy’s face finally relaxed.

“Ever fought before?”

“No.”

“Ever held a sword?”

“No.”

Interesting. Garfenn smiled warmly and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Weapons are meant to be taken from the defeated. Whether it’s a weapon, freedom, or your friends—seize them with your own hands.”

“…….”

The boy gave a faint nod.

The slave trader finished preparing and faced the boy, fully armored and armed.

The boy, meanwhile, was empty-handed.

Garfenn deliberately gave him no weapon—not even a wooden stick.

To let the future apostle experience the Goddess of War’s doctrine firsthand.

Strangely, the boy accepted the unfair duel without complaint or question.

‘Not a word about it being unfair. Hah. What kind of kid is this? Does he really think he can win? Against an armed adult…’

Garfenn was half-doubtful.

But at the same time, he liked the boy even more. A warrior of the goddess must never yield.

‘Show me. The martial talent even Achille envies!’

“Begin.”

Garfenn pushed the boy forward.

The boy glared at the slave trader for a moment.

Whatever he was thinking, his eyes held a bloodlust beyond his years.

Then, as if resolved, he walked forward without hesitation.

Despite the armed man before him, he didn’t falter.

Step. Step.

“O-oh? Coming to die? Fine!”

The slave trader, unnerved by the boy’s aura, raised his voice and lifted his sword.

The distance closed.

Flash!

The blade gleamed above the slave trader’s head—

The moment it descended toward the boy’s skull—

Whoosh—!

The boy’s arms crossed in the blink of an eye.

His blurred hands now held the sword.

“H-huh?”

The slave trader had lost his weapon.

No—it had been taken.

The boy swung without hesitation.

Mimicking the motion, he slashed diagonally—downward, without pause.

Slick!

A clean metallic sound contrasted with the slave trader’s guttural scream.

“Agh, aaaagh! My arm! My leg!”

The slave trader rolled on the bloodied ground, his severed limbs spraying blood uselessly.

The boy’s face showed no emotion. As if all this were natural, he remained calm.

Having witnessed it all, Garfenn—

‘……Never held a sword? That?’

—trembled at the unprecedented talent.

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