Chapter 70

Ch.70 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“Receive the blade of the Goddess of War.”

The knight of the Goddess of War declared. The black storm swirling around him suddenly condensed.

All sounds in the world fell silent. An eerie stillness descended, as if swallowing even the cold night wind, the distant chirping of insects, and even the beating of one’s own heart.

At the center of this silence, the tip of Sion’s sword became the night sky itself—pitch black.

It wasn’t darkness. It was the universe, filled with starlight.

The purest essence of ‘War,’ governed by the Goddess of War, Achille—a contradictory power containing both destruction and order—was now contained within a single blade.

[Incredible……!]

Even Goddess Achille held her breath. Though the power was hers, manifested through Sion’s will, it had become stronger than even she had anticipated.

The Sword Ghost—no, the Ghost Sword—felt instinctive terror.

In a desperate attempt to escape, it unleashed even fiercer magic. The crimson barrier writhed like vomiting blood, thickening and hardening into denser, more solid layers. It was a living wall, desperately flailing in resistance.

But Sion didn’t stop. He had already swung his sword.

There wasn’t even a sensation of swinging. Sion’s blade became a meteor, striking the Ghost Sword’s barrier head-on.

Not a slash through space, but a crushing blow that shattered space itself. It was the Goddess of War’s most solemn mace, aimed directly at evil and brought down with full force.

Kwaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

At last, the two powers collided.

Instead of a thunderous explosion, a deafening screech erupted, as if the world itself were being torn apart.

The crimson magic and the pitch-black divine power twisted violently, each trying to devour the other.

The barrier held.

The Ghost Sword’s karma, built from devouring countless souls, was deeper and more tenacious than expected. Each time black starlight tried to penetrate the surface of the barrier, shrieks like the cries of tormented spirits burst forth in resistance.

‘I must break through!’

Sion clenched his teeth. His goal wasn’t destruction. It was the salvation of the human ensnared by the Ghost Sword’s curse.

That pure will intensified the black divine power even further.

Kwajijik!

“From the Ghost Sword!”

Sion roared.

“Get off!”

In response to his cry, the black meteor shone with even deeper darkness. The holy loop spun as if about to burst, pouring every ounce of power into the tip of his blade.

Kwajik!

Like a crack forming in a glass, the first fissure appeared in the Ghost Sword’s barrier. Without hesitation, a black flash surged into the gap.

Paaaaaaang—!

Finally, the barrier shattered into pieces. The remnants of magic scattered like glass shards, instantly dissolving upon contact with the pitch-black holy energy.

The Goddess of War’s mace, having broken through the barrier, didn’t lose its power—in fact, like a hawk that had spotted its prey, it sharpened its talons.

Ssak!

Before the Sword Ghost could react, the black strike grazed his wrist.

Chinggrrang—!

The Sword Ghost’s wrist fell.

From the hand that dropped to the ground, the Ghost Sword also slipped away, lifeless. The metal lump, now devoid of crimson energy, rolled across the cold ground like an ordinary longsword.

“Khh…… ugh…….”

At the same time, the hooded man collapsed from his knees, powerless.

He clutched his head with both hands, letting out a short groan before collapsing face-first. His body, stripped of magic, was weaker than ever.

Whiiiooo—

As if it were a lie, the night wind began blowing again.

The toxic, suffocating aura emitted by the magic vanished, and the cold, refreshing night air filled the ruins.

Sion lowered his sword, breathing heavily. He swayed slightly from the overwhelming exhaustion, as if all strength had drained from his body, but quickly regained his balance and approached the fallen man.

“……”

As he collapsed, the hood slipped off, fully revealing a pale face.

Damp brown hair, skin ruined from starvation, dry lips tightly shut.

Yet, even in this state, his noble bearing was unmistakable.

On the tattered chest of his clothes was a crest barely recognizable in shape.

‘This crest…?’

It was a symbol seen throughout the Siren region.

“The Deogel family crest?”

“Ugh… ugh…”

The Sword Ghost groaned. His senses were slowly returning. The fiery magic that had burned within him was no longer detectable.

Sion turned his head again, shifting his gaze to the Ghost Sword. Now it was certain.

‘The true body of the Sword Ghost was the Ghost Sword itself.’

Sion spoke.

“Are you regaining consciousness?”

“W-Where…?”

The man looked at Sion, his eyelids barely able to stay open. His eyes showed no recognition.

He didn’t seem to remember their recent sword clash.

” Do you know where you are?”

“My… my territory… Ugh! M-My arm!”

The man only now realized one of his wrists was missing. Sion quickly tore a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the stump to stop the bleeding. He didn’t forget to infuse divine power to ease the pain.

After a wave of intense pain passed, there was finally room for conversation.

Leaning against the rubble, he spoke.

“M-My name is Yohart Deogel. After my father passed, I inherited the title of Count Deogel.”

“I heard you were attacked by a monster.”

“Yes. It killed my father and retainers. The villagers were brutally massacred.”

Count Yohart Deogel continued, grinding his teeth in pain. Despite losing an arm, he remained composed.

“I swore revenge. I gathered the remaining knights and soldiers.”

“And then?”

“But it wasn’t enough. We were hopelessly outmatched against the monster. Everyone was wiped out except me.”

Yohart stared at the Ghost Sword rolling on the ground, seized by fear.

“When I despaired before the Goddess of Light, I remembered the sword sealed in our family’s basement. An ancestor had sealed a powerful Ghost Sword. I touched it. Blinded by revenge, I lost all rational judgment.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you. Anyway, the moment I touched the sword… I felt as if someone had reached into my mind—and after that, I don’t remember clearly.”

His eyes gradually reddened.

“No, no. I do remember. In fragments. Scenes of me killing people… setting fires, slashing villagers open.”

Uwaaaaaahhh!

Suddenly, Yohart screamed. Tears of blood streamed from his eyes.

“M-Me! What have I done?! How could I have killed my own villagers?!”

“Calm down. You were possessed by the Ghost Sword.”

“That doesn’t erase my guilt!”

He shouted, nearly a scream of agony.

Yohart began to crawl. He tried to reach for the Ghost Sword again.

“What are you doing?”

Sion kicked the Ghost Sword away, glaring.

“Kill me! Please! I swear by the Goddess of Light! I don’t deserve to live like this!”

Sion let out a deep sigh.

He understood that heart.

To live with guilt so deep you can’t see the bottom. To carry that burden for a lifetime—death might feel like relief.

But Sion thought it was cowardly.

“Last heir of the Deogel family.”

“…That title is meaningless now. I’m only ashamed to see my ancestors! Kill me. I beg you.”

“Fleeing to hell is irresponsible. It’s not manly. Will you abandon the noble duties you’re meant to uphold?”

Sion swiftly stepped aside.

Behind him, a group of people stood together. The village he had destroyed was visible, and frightened children clung to the skirts of neighboring women.

Their eyes were filled with fear.

But they recognized him.

The eldest son of Deogel, who had grown up upright, who had faithfully patrolled the territory, who had once vowed to turn the village into a better place.

They understood that the atrocity committed was not truly the will of Count Yohart.

“Ahh… ahh…”

He turned his head, buried his face in the dirt, scooping up soil and smashing his head against rocks.

He had no face to live and look at them.

“Please! Please kill me! I beg you! Unknown knight!”

“No. Face your sins directly.”

At Sion’s words, Yohart screamed like a monster. He wanted to bite his tongue, but he lacked the courage.

Sion’s words sprouted like thorns, piercing his tongue and pinning it in place. Instinctively, his head lifted.

‘Face the sins you committed with your own hands.’

And then—

“Pay for the sins you committed against them. For the rest of your life.”

“…I am…”

“There’s someone needed to lead the Deogel territory, isn’t there?”

“I’ve lost everything.”

“Then start again.”

Yohart raised his head. His trembling eyes were clearly visible. He looked at the people, carrying his fear.

Terrified children, women glaring with hatred, elders clucking in sorrow.

More terrifying than any monster.

He wanted to run away immediately.

“Do I… have a chance?”

“Opportunities must be created.”

“…Is that so. Haha. Of course, of course.”

Count Yohart lowered his head. The back of his head revealed a man who had realized even fear was a luxury.

He asked quietly.

“What is your name, knight? So cruel, so cold, yet so noble.”

“Sion. Sion of the War Cult.”

Yohart’s expression flickered slightly. Was it surprise?

“The War Cult… I heard they were worse than devil worshippers. So it’s true.”

“Your family’s education must have been terrible.”

“Perhaps so.”

Yohart replied with a voice stronger than before.

“Thank you, Sir Sion of the War Cult. Thanks to you, I’ve regained my senses. You saved my guilty life. You protected the villagers.”

“Repay me later, slowly.”

“Haha! An interesting man.”

Yohart Deogel struggled to his feet. When Sion tried to support him, he stopped him with his armless limb.

“If, in this chaotic era, I survive and the Deogel territory rises again… my family will serve the Goddess of War.”

“Start practicing now.”

“…That was my intention. So, what’s the prayer?”

Sion pressed his lips tightly together.

***

Yohart Deogel walked weakly and stood before the villagers. Someone bravely slapped the noble’s cheek, others hurled curses.

The guilty count couldn’t even lift his head, enduring their resentment, curses, and rebukes. The pitiful count didn’t lash out once.

Instead, he knelt, desperately begging for a chance to atone for his sins.

‘I trust he’ll handle it well.’

Sion turned his head again. Now, it was time to settle things with the Ghost Sword once and for all.

[Be careful, my young and radiant warrior. The power dwelling in the Ghost Sword is sinister.]

Sion felt warmth at the crown of his head. He now knew what it meant when the Goddess spoke.

A tingling sensation at the crown meant a warning.

Warmth meant encouragement.

‘I think I understand. You’re telling me to take the sword, aren’t you?’

Sion smiled faintly.

[S-Sion?]

Achille was unusually flustered—so much so that she hastily set down the wine she had received as an alliance gift from the Goddess of Abundance.

Dap.

Sion grasped the sword.

At that very moment, a blood vessel sharply bulged at the back of Sion’s neck.

“Khh!”

A sinister, dark magic swept over Sion’s entire body. It was the greedy, ominous touch of a demon, seeking a new host and trying to dominate him.

The Ghost Sword was attempting to enslave Sion.

Sion’s eyes snapped open. He was not the kind of man to let control be stolen by the Ghost Sword.

Wuuuung—!

The holy loop accelerated like a raging current—faster and fiercer than ever before.

A fierce battle for dominance erupted as the divine power fought to expel the invading magic from every part of his body.

“Ugh!”

Veins bulged even in Sion’s eyes. His eyeballs turned blood-red. Yet his consciousness remained intact.

Slowly, the divine power of war began to overpower the Ghost Sword’s influence.

By then, the people had noticed Sion’s strange aura.

“R-Retreat!”

Yohart reacted the fastest. The reason? The Ghost Sword in Sion’s hand had caught his eye.

“D-Damn it! I have to do something!”

Just as Yohart rushed toward Sion—

“Step aside.”

A black figure blocked his path. A stranger in a fluttering black cloak appeared, not even turning to look as he asked,

“Is that… the Sword Ghost?”

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