The Sole God's Command
While I was locked in a meaningless staring contest with the heretic inquisitor, the center of the army parted left and right, and a resplendent carriage of pure white slowly advanced forward.
From the open carriage door stepped a young man in his early twenties who seemed to advertise "I'm the saint" with every inch of his body.
He looked like a saint on sight alone, and his soul confirmed it—a massive soul ringed in golden radiance.
“You must be Viscount Germain Akasha. Nice to meet you. I'm Saint Angjur Asis. People usually just call me the Saint.”
I didn't like how he approached with that beaming smile, completely ignoring the tense situation around us, and casually offered his hand. But it was a small relief that the saint showed no hostility. If they'd really come to kill us all, those fanatic butchers wouldn't have let him wander so defenselessly into my reach.
“Germain Akasha.”
I lightly clasped the saint's hand in return. In that instant, something changed.
I yanked my hand back and retreated. The saint's soul was expanding rapidly before my eyes.
Soon, it filled his body completely. I'd never seen anything like it. As the soul brimmed within his flesh, golden light pierced outward.
Ah, so this was a halo?
The saint's face had changed. The endlessly bright young man's features had become an expressionless, weary middle-aged visage. His face itself hadn't altered—just the aura he exuded.
I glanced around. Everything had frozen. Time in the world had stopped.
A being capable of this? There was only one.
The moment I realized it, an overwhelming pressure erupted from the saint—no, from the entity wearing the saint's skin. It dwarfed anything I'd felt from Kutula before.
This had to be the power of the world's sole god.
“Urk!”
I tried to resist, but that monstrous presence crushed me to my knees.
“Record, wandering soul.”
The entity addressed me. It even knew my true name. Of course—a god would.
“Are you Juno?”
“I am.”
The god had descended before me. But did I really merit such attention? A god with this power could erase someone like me without even descending.
So there was only one explanation. He wanted something from me.
“What do you want from me?”
“Long ago, this world had many gods.”
Juno began to speak in a voice thick with ennui. This was the story Drakan had told me. In ancient times, multiple gods walked this land. Hard to believe, but some even lived alongside humans. I couldn't imagine it now. Just standing near this presence felt like it could pulverize me.
“Many gods grew disappointed in humanity, were betrayed, and abandoned this world.”
Drakan had mentioned fragments of this too. Some gods wept as they left, their tears birthing rivers. Others raged, becoming volcanoes. I'd dismissed it as myth, but now it felt all too real.
“Yet I remained. Because I do not love humanity. Thus, I am neither betrayed nor disappointed.”
What the hell did that mean? And why tell me this?
“I despise betrayal. If it must come, I will betray first—erase everything.”
For a split second, those horrifying words hung in the air. A sole god could manage it. The world wouldn't end without humans—trees, animals, cockroaches would endure. But could gods even be betrayed? What kind of lives did you ancients live?
“But I believe this world must not vanish yet. So I protect it still.”
“Without you, Juno, would the world be destroyed?”
“Yes. Not immediately, but all would slowly wither and die.”
Without a sustaining god, that must happen. The world's creatures owed Juno their gratitude.
“You possess fragments of many gods. Things you weren't meant to have—but what's done is done. Use them in my service.”
Straight-up blackmail. Refuse, and I'd die. Obviously.
But this god felt... off. Kutula had said gods weren't perfect. Maybe this one's mind had cracked.
“How should I use them?”
“For the world's sake.”
Elves, dragons—long-lived beings always spoke in vague platitudes like that. I'd lived a good while myself, but I wouldn't stoop to it.
“Soon, a great crisis will befall the world. Postponing it is the limit of my power. Strengthen the world—and yourself. Then stop it.”
“How many years from now? What kind of crisis?”
Be specific. Drakan had said he had little time left, and it took 86 years.
“You will manage it.”
The saint's face began reverting to its original brightness. Time resumed its flow.
In the end, Juno said his piece and vanished.
I stood, head throbbing with frustration and anger.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
This felt like a classic case of dumping work on a subordinate.
No one to complain to, though. And no clue where to start.
The saint, snapping out of his daze, flashed his usual bright smile.
“Juno has spoken. He appoints Viscount Germain Akasha as a saint as well.”
“Ah, I see.”
Not thrilled at all. So this was using my power “for him”—anything I did as a saint served Juno.
At least I wouldn't be branded a heretic, and no new religion would spawn. A decent workaround.
“We'll keep the appointment ceremony simple.”
“That would be appreciated.”
I'd been had. It was anything but simple.
Who'd guess he'd dragged that whole army just for my ceremony?
The event dragged on for over a month, announced across the continent via the church. Once it ended, the saint left me a ragged mess and departed.
Saint Angjur was a good man at heart. Kind to everyone, no airs of authority. Save for his fanatic streak, he was near-perfect in some ways.
We grew close over that month, even dropping formalities.
Not everyone left. The heretic inquisitor who'd eyed me suspiciously at first, along with 100 paladins and 100 battle priests, stayed—as my escorts.
The territory's forces had skyrocketed overnight.
No proper barracks yet, so construction restarted: a temple, housing for paladins and priests. Fortunately, the Divinity Church covered it all.
The looming world crisis? Unimaginable.
Someone to ask... Kutula. A century had passed; he'd be awake by now.
But first, check something. I summoned Wider.
“Wider, did you know I'd become a saint?”
“No, my lord. I had no idea.”
He didn't know this? Then it wasn't true precognition.
“The future's changed, then. Let's be straight: what’s your ability? No matter the answer, I promise no harm.”
Wider pondered long, then spoke haltingly.
“You may not believe it, but... this is my second life.”
“I believe you.”
I was living my second life too.
“I was originally...”
In summary: Born in the empire, lived to 69, died, woke up at 25. A regressor.
He'd briefly served under me in his first life too, left House Akasha, suffered, and died.
“And the people you recruited?”
“They were all fated to join House Akasha originally.”
Made sense. I'd have scouted talents like that.
“In your first life, I never became a saint, right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The future had shifted. Would everything up to his death at 69 change too? Not entirely, but ripples were certain.
“Wider.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Looks like your future of lounging around is over.”
Wider sighed and bowed his head.
Maybe no crisis for 40 years, per his past life. Long-lived folks had warped senses of time—“soon” could mean centuries.
I resumed treating the incurably ill. Crowds flocked to the certified saint. Even minor ailments treatable at any temple came to me.
Visitors boosted territory income. Some settled here—commoners seeking treatment, sticking around after.
Wider's workload ballooned.
I told him to recruit any useful talents he remembered. He eagerly led mercenaries, including Jayke, out to scout.
I sent an avatar to Ktolari Viscountcy, where Kutula lurked.
As it arrived, [Insolent fool! Come in your true body!]—and I was booted out.
Even for a god, I'd underestimated him. Still, confirmed he was awake. Progress.
Leaving immediately was tough. Akasha to Ktolari was far, across borders. Plus, with the Divinity Church's forces as escorts, diplomacy mattered.
I focused on healing visitors while ramping up avatars. Intelligence first—crises could spark anywhere.
Avatars' power couldn't be ignored either. Breed more, grow them strong.
The resident heretic inquisitor, Joseph Timuria, and his men treated me with utmost courtesy post-appointment—contrary to first impressions. Fanatics, after all. Deference to a saint, God's apostle, was natural.
I rarely left home, leaving Joseph idle—until he spotted Jayke and Argin.
Argin, especially, was the kind of genius any expert itched to teach.
Thus, Argin gained another master. Jayke was solid but knew his limits, approving a second mentor.
This Master-level knight fanned Argin's growth into an inferno.
As the territory stabilized and prospered, I decided to depart.
Through overwork, I'd reached avatar #10.
Diplomacy sorted via the emperor and church. Officials and stewards Wider recruited would manage. No madman would attack here.
Still, I left some paladins and battle priests as insurance.
“Let's go save the world.”
I spurred my horse lightly. Over 200 followed.
Saint Germain Akasha's first official outing.