Chapter 153

Ch.153Apostle of the Goddess of War

Sion approached the temple alone.

He had prepared thoroughly for any emergency.

Thud. Thud.

The moment he stepped inside, Sion steadied his breath and scanned his surroundings.

Heat radiated from deep within the temple. The air seethed with scorching intensity—as if invisible flames had enveloped the walls and floor.

It hardly resembled a temple. Instead of serene sacredness, an ominous current—mingled fire and chaos—filled the space.

“This is…”

Sion clenched and unclenched his fist, sensing the alien heat.

Sweat began to bead on the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t merely hot—it felt as though he’d been cast into a smelting furnace, his very soul boiling over.

At that moment, a gentle voice—like dew falling on a leaf—spoke to him.

[It’s now certain.]

‘What do you mean, my Goddess?’

[The energies of fire and chaos are overwhelming. A horrific entity, fused from both powers, has nested within this ancient temple.]

Sion inhaled sharply. So it had come to this.

From the moment the heavens fractured and the Goddesses turned against one another, this moment should have been anticipated.

‘Has the Fire Cult allied with the Evil God?’

The Goddess frowned.

[It seems so. There’s an undeniable connection, whatever its form. Denial is futile.]

Achille’s voice lacked its usual brightness.

Perhaps no one felt the weight of betrayal more than she did herself.

Even the Goddesses of heaven had stooped so low as to ally with an Evil God.

For what purpose?

For whose sake?

Achille had endlessly questioned Eru:

‘Eru… Why did you go that far? Was there truly no other way? If only you’d trusted your sisters a little more and asked for help…’

But the Sovereign Goddess who once led them was gone. Now Achille had to find her own answers.

Perhaps this was the trial to become the next Sovereign Goddess herself.

‘Still… it’ll be all right, won’t it?’

Achille gave a lonely smile.

[Not this time. Their scheme—forged between an Evil God and the Fire Cult—lies beyond even my foresight. If we leave that thing unchecked, who knows what catastrophe it may unleash?]

To comfort his Goddess, Sion quickly replied:

‘Then—’

[Hm?]

‘It’s my turn.’

With a confident grin, Sion drew his Yogeo. The Goddess smiled at his bold yet earnest demeanor—his loyalty pure and beautiful. How could she not love him?

[My Sion.]

Sion bowed his head, now attuned enough to her presence to respond with perfect timing.

‘Speak, my Goddess.’

[To purge impurity was always my original duty at the Round Table.]

‘The strongest Goddess. I know.’

[I am not the strongest.]

The Goddess quietly denied it—yet added with unwavering confidence, her expression like a knight announcing victory:

[I was simply the bravest.]

Sion chuckled softly.

Those words stirred something deep in his chest.

‘I like that even more.’

[Don’t you?]

‘Yes. My faith grows stronger.’

[Sion, my child.]

‘Speak.’

[My divine power shows no sign of change?]

‘…’

Sion pressed his lips tightly together.

‘Ugh. Why?’

His chest ached—but he shut down such thoughts at once, turning serious again.

‘How strong is the enemy inside?’

[Powerful. Stronger than any apostle you’ve faced before.]

Sion rolled his neck like a gladiator stepping into the arena.

‘Stronger than my master?’

Without even 0.1 seconds of hesitation, the Goddess replied:

[There is no such being in this world—save for you, Sion.]

‘Then…’

The answer was already decided.

‘I’ll win.’

***

Thud. Thud.

A rugged-looking War Knight patrolled the temple, which burned like a volcano’s rim.

Their squad had split into three groups, each searching a different direction.

Their standing orders: engage only Chaos Wraiths or lesser monsters.

If they encountered demons or apostle-class foes, they were to retreat immediately, call for aid, and notify an apostle.

“Nothing in this room.”

“The main hall’s empty too—but it’s even hotter deeper inside.”

The knights operated under a clear hierarchy. Reports funneled upward through the chain of command.

It fell to the squad leader to synthesize the intel and decide the next move.

Karka, leader of Squad Three—a former Black Banner Unit member under Kegan who’d earned his rank through merit—gathered his men.

“From now on, stay together. Form up in the tunnel-formation we practiced.”

“Yes, sir!”

The knights swiftly arranged themselves: two lines, each covering the other’s blind spots. The squad leader and deputy took the front and rear—the most critical positions.

Squad Three advanced cautiously, as if crossing a bottomless river. The heat kept rising, soaking their armor in sweat and parching their throats.

“Hm.”

Karka halted abruptly, surveying their surroundings.

Having entered through the north gate and ventured deeper, they found a modest hall—one that oddly resembled a reception area.

A dining table, framed portraits, statues, and a fireplace—its layout mimicked an ordinary noble’s manor, creating an unsettling illusion.

‘Is this truly a temple?’

Its purpose was baffling; nothing about it felt sacred.

Karka reached out and ran his hand over the dining table. Not a speck of dust.

Only constant upkeep could produce such cleanliness. Not even a cobweb lingered in the corners.

The squad’s tension eased slightly; the room seemed too mundane for danger.

Alone, Karka slowly walked toward the fireplace, trailing his fingers along the table.

‘Strange indeed…’

“Huh?”

Fresh logs and ash filled the hearth—recently used.

The warmth and scent came not from the temple’s ambient heat, but from actual burning wood.

‘Did someone just light a fire here?’

The moment that thought crossed his mind—

Screeee!

Karka’s sword flashed like thunder.

Crash!

A sharp blade thrust from between the fireplace bricks—aimed straight for his heart. Had Karka not reacted instantly, he’d have been impaled.

“Ambush!”

Karka shouted the alert immediately. Simultaneously, assassins hidden throughout the temple revealed themselves.

“What the hell!”

“…What’s going on?”

“Our lucky streak’s over. Draw your swords!”

“Wha—what in blazes is this…?”

But everyone froze, voices trailing off in disbelief.

Karka was no different—his mind flooded with chaos.

Because the figures blocking their path were none other than…

“The Ash Knights.”

The elite knights bred by the Fire Cult.

Why were Fire Cultists emerging from an Evil God’s temple?

Why did this place still bear signs of daily life?

Questions and suspicions hammered Karka’s head.

Thud-thud.

The Ash Knight emerged through the ruined fireplace—clearly a veteran, honed to a lethal edge.

“Not bad. You even parried my ambush? So the War Knights have truly been revived.”

Karka retreated a few steps.

“Normally I wouldn’t say something like this on our first meeting—but have you finally lost your mind? I knew the Fire Cult was insane, but this… this is crossing a line.”

The Ash Knight curled his lips into a grim smile.

“Doubt is a luxury we cannot afford. We merely follow Fire’s oracle.”

“Is that oracle telling you to betray your fellow Goddess?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Click.

Karka assumed a fighting stance.

The Ash Knight answered:

“Purification.”

“…Then this is war.”

Crash!

The battle began.

***

Thud-thud-thud!

The heat intensified. Sion and his Goddess pushed deeper into the temple, now resembling a blazing furnace.

He sensed combat erupting all around—but he had no time for distractions.

His mission: eliminate the enemy commander.

The fastest path to victory in war was beheading the leader—minimizing casualties and time alike.

And for Sion, time was gold.

Thud.

He sprinted through labyrinthine corridors, sweat pouring like floodwater, but dared not pause.

Finally, he stood before the door radiating the strongest Evil God aura.

Its presence pierced through the wood—had it taken physical form, it would tower over the temple like a colossal mountain.

Bang!

Sion kicked the door open. Scorching air burst out, whipping his hair backward.

A vast hall.

Carved wooden dolls and martial arts training gear filled the space—more a training ground than a temple.

[That’s him.]

Goddess Achille spoke. Sion saw the same figure.

In the center of the training hall sat not a man—but a demon, cross-legged in meditation.

Eyes closed, perfectly still, as if merged with the scenery itself—a state achievable only through supreme cultivation of body and mind.

‘Strong… just as you said.’

[Undoubtedly an Apostle of Chaos. Yet I sense Agnia’s power as well—her authority has clearly mingled with his.]

Achille analyzed the foe. With the Goddess of War’s insight, Sion grasped the enemy’s nature even faster.

‘A demon—definitely at least an apostle.’

[Stay vigilant. Now that I see him, their fusion of powers appears even more seamless.]

Suddenly, Sion felt a burning sensation on his nose—blood began to drip.

‘What’s this?’

[The temple’s ancient miasma and his spiritual pressure are immense. Your mortal body struggles to endure it.]

Achille spoke with concern.

[We cannot drag this out. The ancient demonic aura here is too dense. Now I understand why they chose this temple—]

[—It was once home to the child who wielded Death. The miasma here was so thick it could kill living beings by mere exposure.]

Sion wiped his nose and nodded. Whatever the details, one thing was clear: this foe was dangerously powerful.

‘Understood.’

[Show no mercy, my apostle.]

‘Yes. I wasn’t planning to.’

Screeee.

Sion drew his sword.

The Yogeo trembled violently, as if eager to drink deep of demonic power—wild and instinctive, like a hungry infant clamoring for food.

…His hands ached.

Wielding both the Demon Blade and Yogeo simultaneously was taxing—only possible because he was Sion, and only bearable with Achille shielding his mind from corruption. Both blades were that formidable.

Far across the hall, the demon opened his eyes.

“Unexpected—you’re less aggressive than I thought, Apostle of the Goddess of War Goddess. I assumed you’d charge in recklessly.”

The Apostle of Chaos’s mocking voice echoed through the training hall, booming as if multiplied tenfold.

Crimson eyes. Colossal frame. Muscles sculpted like statues. His pale, reddish skin truly evoked a demon.

‘His looks are fearsome—but it’s the demonic aura within that matters.’

Sion focused not on appearance, but on the sheer depth and volume of his power.

How many years of training and battle would it take to cultivate such serene intensity?

Rising to his feet, the Apostle of Chaos spoke:

“Last time, we never properly introduced ourselves. I’ve been wanting to fight you ever since.”

“Last time?”

“In the Sacred Kingdom. I was one of the demons you shoved aside. Thanks to you, I barely escaped the Apostle of Light alive.”

He clutched the lingering wound on his chest—just below his left shoulder—still throbbing from Naru’s strike.

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