Chapter 94

Ch.94 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“…….”

Silence.

An eerie silence stretched on.

Sion was, in his own way, seriously considering Arwen’s question.

To defeat an enemy, one must first understand the enemy’s thoughts.

Only by understanding the opponent could one identify their weaknesses and deliver a fatal blow.

A disciple of Wisdom calmly drinking milk while walking of her own accord into the heart of enemy territory.

A knight of the War Cult attempting to resolve matters through conversation with an enemy who sought to take Kaili.

To anyone observing, it was an unreal scene.

After much deliberation, Sion finally answered.

It was a topic he had never deeply considered before, and an immediate answer simply didn’t come to him.

“I’m not sure.”

To this, Arwen responded,

immediately, as if she had expected exactly that reply.

“This world is like a broken mechanical device.”

Arwen continued, looking down at her milk cup with her characteristic drooping, melancholic eyes.

“Even the Goddess of War you worship is merely a part of that broken mechanism. War is the manifestation of the most inefficient and destructive mistake. The knights of War don’t even attempt to fix this fatal error—they only amplify it. They fail to identify the root cause and merely wield meaningless violence.”

Her words were lengthy.

But each one was bone-deep, carrying weight.

One could glimpse how the Goddess of Wisdom viewed Achille—perhaps even the shared perspective of the Goddesses of the Round Table.

“What are you trying to say?”

Sion’s voice was thick with caution.

“The world is filled with suffering. It’s an endless chain of pain.”

“…….”

“Have you ever thought about the root cause of all this tragedy?”

Arwen lifted her head and stared directly at Sion.

There was no longer any fear in her eyes. Only cold certainty and a chilling intellect that seemed intent on instructing her opponent sparkled within them.

“The emperor sends tens of thousands to their deaths with a single word and feels not a shred of guilt. The nobles drain the blood of the people for insatiable greed. Lovers, blinded by fleeting jealousy, kill each other. Neighbors slander one another out of petty envy.”

Her voice was calm, but its content carried all the ugliness of the world.

“All these tragedies occur even while the legions of Evil Gods and their followers openly exist. Slaughter and suffering, forced separation, monsters and mages, greed and war. Death, death, death, death, death, death……”

Arwen strung together negative words with the most pessimistic attitude imaginable.

“Even the things you believe to be noble are steeped in hypocrisy. Love meant to protect family degenerates into selfishness that threatens the greater community. Compassion for the weak deteriorates into irrational sentimentality that erodes overall efficiency. The root of it all is just one thing.”

Arwen declared it.

“Uncontrolled negative emotions. It is precisely this impurity that has made this world ill. If only everyone followed the guidance of Lady Menesia, suffering could have been completely eradicated from the world.”

Sion unconsciously swallowed hard.

So this was the kind of group the Wisdom Cult was.

Suddenly, he felt a chill.

After all, her words, at first hearing, had seemed plausible—even convincing for a brief moment.

They sounded logical.

Like a beautifully decorated soup laced with poison.

Judged purely by reason, her argument might well have been correct.

But her claim was nothing more than an ‘ideal’.

Ideals exist precisely because they cannot be realized.

“So, are you saying you’ll erase everyone’s hearts?”

Sion’s voice carried cold anger.

“What’s the difference between that and killing people? Do you plan to turn them into soulless puppets?”

“It’s not killing. It’s salvation.”

For the first time, a faint heat entered Arwen’s voice—a cold radiance emitted by flawless logic.

“Following the doctrine of Wisdom Cult, we merely remove the unnecessary emotions that consume the world.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Imagine it, Sion. A world where everyone shares and no one starves. A world where no one hates each other. A world where everyone obeys laws and rules, causing no harm. A world where every person finds satisfaction in the role perfectly suited to their talent and becomes a member of society in the most efficient way possible—a world of perfect order.”

Her blue eyes grew distant, as if dreaming.

A paradise seemed to be painted in Arwen’s pupils.

What did the Apostle of Wisdom see?

“A paradise without sorrow, anger, or pain. Perfection without mistakes or failures. That is the world promised by the Goddess of Wisdom. Freeing humanity from the shackles of emotion that make them imperfect—this is the greatest compassion and salvation.”

A stress-free, purely fantastical world filled only with flower fields—just by imagining it.

Certainly, that was true.

In theory.

But.

“That’s not a paradise. It’s a prison.”

Sion spat out firmly.

“The world you speak of is merely a gray world devoid of joy, love, or a sense of achievement. It’s nothing more than a cage for beings less than castrated livestock.”

“But isn’t that very soul the source of suffering?”

Arwen smiled sadly, her gaze at Sion resembling that of someone looking at a naive child.

“Sion. You haven’t yet freed yourself from the shackles of emotion. That’s why you don’t understand. Even the anger you feel right now is nothing but an impurity clouding your judgment.”

And then,

Arwen delivered the final blow.

“The priestess is the key that will open that perfect world. Lady Menesia, descending directly through the vessel, will spread truth throughout the world.”

Sion’s emotional impurities were thoroughly provoked. Indeed, for a moment, his surging anger nearly clouded his reason.

“Cooperate in building a flawless world, Sion. Simply hand over the priestess.”

Her words, spoken gently, were blasphemous yet terrifyingly logical.

“We don’t prefer barbaric violent conflict. So let’s resolve this amicably, through dialogue. Just hand over the child, and it’s over.”

Arwen, as if she had said all she needed to, slowly rose from her seat.

The person who had just moments ago spouted absurd logic as if it were truth now returned, as if nothing had happened, to the appearance of a timid girl once more.

“……I will follow my beliefs, and you will follow your emotions. But Sion, one day you will realize. This method is the only path to save everyone from suffering. This is the conclusion reached by my Goddess, the wisest of all, after an immeasurably long span of time. It cannot be wrong.”

Arwen bowed deeply, just as she had upon entering, and then opened the door without hesitation.

“Tonight. I’ll be waiting at Elim’s city gate. Bring me a good answer. Sion. No, junior. I don’t want to raise my sword against Elim either.”

As if.

Sion wanted to shout back, but he didn’t stop Arwen.

Sion needed time to gather his thoughts.

He was too exhausted.

“Enjoyed the milk?”

Thud.

At the sound of the closing door, Sion slowly closed his tightly opened eyes.

Huu—

‘I’m tired.’

He was exhausted both physically and mentally.

Especially that insane Apostle of Wisdom—she was more exhausting than anyone Sion had ever met.

‘She’s completely insane.’

Wasn’t it said that the most frightening people in the world are those with misguided beliefs?

Looking at Arwen, he finally understood that saying.

She was dangerously resolute.

And worse, her reasoning was plausible enough to attract many followers.

Those weary from endless suffering, tragedy, and war wouldn’t seem odd at all if they abandoned everything and followed the doctrine of Wisdom Cult.

The world itself—

the great flow of things—was encouraging it.

‘I have to stop it.’

Sion’s heart burned.

His resolve hardened, enough to forget his fatigue.

‘By any means necessary. I must stop that woman.’

The Wisdom Cult.

This group, which sought to completely eradicate emotion and worship only reason, didn’t seem much different from the legions of Evil Gods.

***

Inside the shabby tent of the screening area.

Unlike the outside chaos, a heavy, cold atmosphere hung within.

Selana and Antarius waited anxiously, silently, their eyes fixed solely on Arwen’s face as she returned.

Arwen wordlessly washed her hands in the water basin placed in one corner of the tent.

Her movements were obsessively meticulous, as if trying to wash away even the tiniest speck of dust from Sion’s house.

“Apostle… how did it go?”

Unable to contain herself, Selana spoke first.

Instead of answering, Arwen raised her wet hands and lightly tapped her own cheeks.

Like an actor before removing a mask.

Then, with a long, deep sigh, her shoulders slumped.

“Still—”

The cold apostle was gone. In her place stood a girl who looked utterly worn out.

“It doesn’t seem possible.”

Arwen murmured weakly as she sank down onto the floor.

“That child, the knight named Sion—did he understand your words?”

Antarius asked in a low voice. A faint glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes.

The conclusion given by the Goddess of Wisdom was perfect. There was an ironclad belief that any intelligent person would understand and follow that logic.

Arwen shook her head. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“He probably understood. Intellectually.”

“Then there’s still hope it could work out……”

“No. It won’t work.”

Arwen leaned back, resting her head on Selana’s lap as she continued. Her posture was unmistakably that of a spoiled child.

“That child is smart. He surely understood exactly what I was saying, what kind of world we’re trying to create. But Sion will never join our side.”

Selana asked, puzzled.

“He understood, yet still refused? Why?”

“Selana, you know I was originally from the War Cult, right?”

“Of course.”

“Only those who cannot accept the logic of Lady Menesia in their hearts become War Cult followers from the beginning.”

“Oh.”

Arwen’s voice grew even softer.

“This place, Elim, is the polar opposite of our Cult.”

She closed her eyes. Sion’s resolute gaze flashed in her mind.

‘That’s not a paradise. It’s a prison.’

A voice without a shred of hesitation.

“I saw his eyes. Not for a single moment did they waver until I finished speaking. If anything, they burned even more fiercely, like flames. By now, he probably sees us as enemies even worse than the Evil Gods.”

“How dare he! How foolish!”

Even Antarius’s anger didn’t lighten the atmosphere in the tent.

The second plan—persuasion—had clearly ended in failure.

“Then, Apostle.”

Selana spoke, as if having made a decision.

“It seems the time has come to use our final method.”

Arwen didn’t answer. She only tightened her grip on the fabric of Selana’s clothes.

The third plan.

It was barbarism itself.

The method the Wisdom Cult feared most, the one they had postponed until the very last resort.

When logic and reason failed, they would seize their goal by the most primitive and certain means.

A plan to crush all resistance with overwhelming force and abduct the priestess.

‘So it’s come to this.’

Arwen mocked herself inwardly.

‘Truly, I never wanted to see bloodshed in Elim of all places.’

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