Chapter 149

Ch.149Apostle of the Goddess of War

“Ugh… uuh…”

Arwen had just unpacked her belongings in the guest quarters and was about to stroll along Elim’s streets. She raised her hand, hoping to catch Sion’s attention again as he hurried off somewhere

—but instead, she was seized by someone entirely unexpected—not a person, but a Goddess.

[My Apostle. Why do you wander here?]

“Eh? G-Goddess?”

[Don’t tell me you still can’t speak properly.]

“I, uh… um…”

The Apostle of Wisdom had intended to inform Sion of her willingness to accompany him as an ally. With the Holy Grail shards needing to be gathered as swiftly as possible, aligning with Sion was crucial to building a stronger front than rival factions

—Apostle of Wisdom would be a tremendous asset. All Arwen needed to do was relay this calmly and clearly…

[Enough. Follow me. My Apostle must hear this too.]

Thus, Arwen was dragged by her own Goddess into a tense negotiation between Goddesses and the Fallen Evil God. Though she was tucked away in a corner, voiceless and nervous, the scene unfolding before her was anything but ordinary.

Goddesses versus an Evil God.

It felt like stepping into a powder keg with a lit match in hand.

Achille, Menesia, and Emily stood firmly before the Fallen Evil God. Their eyes burned with divine radiance, glaring as though ready to strike her down at a moment’s notice—prepared to summon their full divine authority and crush her instantly.

Tartania, however, merely smiled faintly and engaged them in a battle of wills.

[We treated Sion kindly. Isn’t my reception rather cold?]

The exchange occurred not through sound, but via mental resonance—Sion could hear it too. His head throbbed from the pressure, but he managed to endure.

[Shut your mouth. Your very breath reeks of corruption. What vile lie have you come to tell this time?]

Achille snapped—her tone utterly devoid of warmth.

Had it not been for Sion’s plea, she would have already drawn her War Blade and severed Tartania’s head. She was listening only out of respect for her Apostle.

Tartania leveraged this rare opportunity. When else could she speak peacefully with this fearsome Goddess of War? Normally, their only means of communication was through blades.

With a languid hand, Tartania brushed her cold throat and spoke.

[Stay calm. I truly came to surrender. I’ll reveal everything I know about Mago’s plans—if you guarantee my safety.]

[How do we verify your words are true?]

[You’ll find out in time.]

Achille shook her head.

[That’s insufficient. Future proof is meaningless. Prove your resolve now.]

Tartania sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

[Goddesses and Apostles—always so dramatic. It’s exhausting.]

She stuck out her lip in a childish pout. Achille merely jerked her chin dismissively.

[Then leave. We have no intention of accepting you.]

[Tch. Still as warm as ever, I see.]

[My warmth is already stretched thin for my own followers.]

Sion watched the exchange in silence, marveling silently that divine discourse sounded no different from mortal quarrels.

Tartania glanced between Achille, Menesia, and Emily—faces as cold and unyielding as winter stone. No cracks to exploit. If she dared signal Sion now, Achille’s blade would surely ring out instantly. Provoking a Goddess of War by touching her Apostle? Unthinkable.

[Very well…]

Tartania slumped her shoulders dramatically, throwing up both hands and feet in surrender.

[If you’ll take me in… I’ll hand over my entrails.]

Even Achille was taken aback. The other Goddesses exchanged glances.

[My entrails are the source of my corruption—and the core of my power. You all know this. I’m willing to give them up.]

[A ruse?]

Tartania shrieked in frustration.

[Ah! Isn’t this enough for you to just believe me already?! I don’t want to fight you to the death—not even if it means forsaking my divinity! I just want to live quietly!]

Achille’s gaze never wavered, dissecting every nuance of Tartania’s sincerity. The others did the same.

‘Forsaking divinity’ wasn’t a phrase to be taken lightly—it meant relinquishing everything. Becoming no different from a mortal. The three Goddesses understood the weight of that sacrifice better than anyone.

[You’d go this far to surrender? Why?]

Achille asked. Tartania replied, weary and resigned:

[I already told your Apostle. Achille—I’m doing this because I’m certain of your victory.]

[Hm.]

[Just spare my life. After Mago falls, let me keep the Altar of Corruption and live modestly. That’s all I ask.]

[Are you afraid of death?]

[No… I’m afraid of being forgotten.]

She confessed, vulnerable—corruption itself, corrupted.

The Goddess of War, Wisdom, and Wildflower remained silent—not just because a millennia-old enemy had betrayed her cause, but because the era itself had shifted beyond recognition. With the Sovereign gone and the Celestial Gates sealed, even deities struggled to navigate this new chaos.

What was right? What was wrong?

Even Goddesses wandered without answers.

[Very well.]

Achille closed her eyes once—then chose.

A different path from the past.

Not one of endless slaughter—but of inclusion and alliance.

Conquest need not always be written in blood.

[If you truly surrender, there are conditions.]

[Name them.]

[First: You will let me extract your entrails and bind them to my weapon. In doing so, you may retain your divinity and still live—your Altar of Corruption will remain functional.]

[Hmm. That’s generous.]

Tartania had steeled herself for worse. This was nothing.

[Second: You will reveal every detail of Mago’s plan—without omission.]

[Of course.]

[You’re cooperative. I’m starting to trust you.]

Emily and Menesia watched silently, arms crossed. Sion and Arwen did the same.

Perhaps this was a historic moment.

The surrender of an Evil God.

If a new era was dawning, this would be its turning point.

[Third: Until the war ends, you will serve as Emily’s loyal retainer and become Elim’s guardian. Can you abide by this?]

Tartania grinned, flashing a V-sign with her fingers.

[That’s exactly what I want! I’d love to live in a human city. I can mingle among them, right?]

[So long as you don’t use your powers or reveal your identity.]

[Fair enough!]

So she longed to walk among mortals…

‘She must be a lonely Evil God.’

Perhaps she deserved to be called a Goddess now. Maybe she could even shed the name ‘Fallen’. Sion silently prayed for that day to come.

Tartania knelt before Achille—and pressed a kiss to the Goddess of War’s hand, sealing their master-servant bond.

‘Incredible.’

The air surged with divine presence.

Sion and Arwen trembled, overwhelmed by waves of pure sanctity—experiencing the ultimate limit of divine grace mere mortals could touch.

Simply breathing near a Goddess elevated one’s very being.

Merely witnessing their presence refined the soul.

Apostles grew stronger without cease—precisely why the Goddesses had brought them along for this pivotal moment.

[I still can’t believe it.]

[Me neither… Are we dreaming?]

[Hmph.]

Even Menesia and Emily remained skeptical to the end. Who could have imagined Tartania—the most treacherous of Evil Gods—kneeling in submission before Achille?

“The age really has changed,” Menesia muttered under her breath, lips pursed.

And beneath the darkened sky, Achille commanded:

[Now. Speak. What is Mago’s plan?]

Still kneeling, Tartania slowly parted her pale lips.

[Mago is…]

* * *

Cough!

“Sister! Are you alright?”

Mago vomited thick, dark blood.

The Evil God of Blood rushed to stabilize her meridians.

All Evil Gods bore lingering wounds from their clash with Achille, Menesia, and Emily—but Mago had suffered worst of all. She’d been forced to maintain the barrier while fighting, as Achille relentlessly slashed at the spatial runes anchoring their domain.

After they escaped, it took days just to stabilize the barrier again—and relocating their hidden coordinates was no small feat.

“The Celestial power is gone… I can feel my limits. My Magoth is fading.”

“Really?”

The Evil Gods frowned.

Eru’s scheme was finally surfacing.

With the Celestial Realm severed, the Evil Gods’ authority waned. Unlike the Goddesses, who drew strength from human worship, the Evil Gods had never built such a structure—stealing Celestial power and transmuting it into Magoth was their only recourse.

“We must restore the Round Table—today if we can.”

“But how? They’ve taken the replica!”

The Evil God of Blood bit her lip, her face gaunt, almost soulless.

“It was nearly complete! If that damn Tartania hadn’t betrayed us, my plan would already be realized!”

“Who knew that child would abandon us…”

“Aaargh! I hate it! I hate this! Everything’s so annoying!”

Evil God of Chaos shrieked, tearing at her hair—her howls triggering a fit from Evil God of Madness as well.

“Leave.”

The Evil God of Blood’s icy glare finally silenced the room. Only then did Mago speak again, pressing her eyelids shut.

“If I consume the Living Akasha and dissolve it into my darkness, I can resurrect Eru and reopen the Celestial Gates.”

“But now it’s all ruined.”

“We’ll take it back. I won’t lose my sister—Eru—not like this.”

Mago’s voice cracked, her eyes reddened with longing.

“What can we do? Even you felt it—Achille… that madwoman grows more unstoppable by the day.”

Mago wiped her tears, biting her nails hard enough to draw blood.

“It’s still manageable. I can still win—if we fight outside. Last time, I was too constrained.”

“That’s true enough.”

“But I’m weaker now… Should I slaughter humans again to regain strength?”

She disliked that option. She wanted to conserve her power and focus solely on gathering shards—but circumstances were dire. Just before completing her astonishing plan—to become the Goddess of Light herself—everything had crumbled.

“Bringing in the Apostle of War… was a grave mistake.”

“Tartania fell for that human, too.”

Vilena crushed her fists until her bones creaked—crack, crack.

“Eru chose him. He’ll be a wild card for us—a seed of apocalypse. I’ll kill him now.”

“What?”

“We must eliminate him by any means. You agree, right?”

Mago couldn’t deny it.

A human personally chosen by Eru was far more dangerous than any Goddess—a walking anomaly, a harbinger of doom.

“I’ll stake my life to kill him. You handle the rest.”

“Vilena. Control your rage. Don’t lose your reason like this.”

“I’m done hiding. Your cautious way doesn’t suit my nature.”

“Master your fury. He’s not a man you can simply kill. We must move carefully.”

“I’ll do as I please!”

Just as Mago and Vilena clashed pointlessly—

Marnaki, the silent Evil God of Decay, stepped between them.

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Someone seeks an audience.”

Mago scowled. “Marnaki, explain.”

“Fire and Water have come.”

“Agnia and Serine?”

“Yes.”

“Why would the two who’ve allied with the Royal House seek us?”

Marnaki shrugged.

“Your ears—”

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