The Apostles Want a Break
The Timor front concluded with a victory for the Southern Cross, and as soon as we returned to the Southern Cross, a massive welcome event was held. Hero of the Southern Cross. Liberator of Timor. They praised me with such flowery words.
And once again, the Central Cathedral of Nova Crux. The ones announcing my promotion, just like last time, were Apostle Maclellan and his Saint, Orangepekoe.
"Promoting Apostle Raven to Rank 30."
Doesn't it seem strange that the people who were complaining about my rank rising too fast until just recently were now pestering the Reconstruction Council to force through a high rank for me?
Actually, the reason was simple. It was because all the Apostles with enough skill and political power to oppose it had died.
While we were hunting Golgotha in Timor, the recapture operations of Luzon and Bruneo ended in miserable failure. A significant number of elite troops from each Saint faction of the Southern Cross died, weakening the power of the factions that had been keeping the 7th Saint Faction in check.
And above all, the Southern Cross needed us.
In Oceania, in Polynesia, in Indonesia, in Malaysia... the Southern Cross was on a losing streak. With the authority of the Southern Cross in the gutter, they wanted to create a 'hero'.
And in that situation, the most suitable person was me, Apostle Raven.
As I stood up, applause erupted from all around. I gave them a polite, smiling face. Seeing Earl Grey trembling in the banquet hall, I held her hand and whispered.
"Are you very nervous?"
Earl Grey's face turned red to her ears as she smiled bashfully and said.
"Y-yes..."
She was truly a lovely person.
"I'm nervous too."
Rank 30. It's the gateway to being a high-ranker, evaluated as capable of taking down Golgotha and 6-ring Isomers. As I carry out more missions in the future, I'll be able to earn higher rewards. And corresponding threats will follow, too.
Of course, by threats, I don't mean the battlefield. It was a matter within the Southern Cross. Because the higher my rank goes, the more factions will target me and Earl Grey.
Honestly, I'm scared. I have the confidence to protect her on the battlefield, but can I do the same in politics? I muttered to myself to get rid of the doubts tightening around me.
"I'll be with you."
I didn't look back. I don't remember what expression Earl Grey had when she heard my words. But warmth was transmitted from her grip as she held my hand tightly.
After the ceremony ended, Jack, Mokjul, and I sat at a table in the banquet hall. It seemed Earl Grey and Origin were attending a tea party with the Saints.
I found it hard to send her to that place, which was a venue for the Saints' political power struggles, and I wanted to accompany her even if I had to be pushy, but she had a firm look on her face and told me to trust her, so there was nothing I could do.
And... the eyes of the other Apostles looking at us weren't exactly friendly. From their perspective, we were just guys who had a meteoric rise by taking advantage of their faction's failure. Openly mocking, making provocative gestures... they were acting like kindergarteners.
"Oh my, looks like a fistfight is about to break out, huh?"
Jack looked around, being sarcastic.
I drank my wine in silence. I just want all of this to end so I can go home and wait for Earl Grey. I want to enjoy a dessert tour with Earl Grey at max affection as soon as possible.
"I didn't want to keep the promise of having a drink after the Timor battle like this."
Jack spat out that one sentence and emptied his glass.
"Ruins the taste of the alcohol."
I put down my glass and looked to the side. Mokjul had been sipping some strange yellow liquid for a while.
"What are you drinking?"
"Juice. Alcohol lowers cognitive ability, so I don't drink."
...Let's not talk.
That was when.
"Our heroes of Timor Island! Why the long faces?"
Maclellan laughed heartily and patted our shoulders in turn. A grip strength that made my shoulder ache. This guy is a bit burdensome. ...Still, he was the most friendly person to us in this banquet hall, so I couldn't just push him away.
Jack said to Maclellan.
"Giving good stuff only to Evan, nothing for us? If we're heroes, buy us a drink with the Captain's money."
Maclellan looked at that with an expression that said he couldn't understand.
"With my money? For you? Why? You'll just pick the most expensive thing, obviously."
At that, Jack smiled mischievously.
"Do I, a mercenary, have to worry about the Captain's wallet?"
"Yeah, if we're getting treated, might as well get expensive food."
When I chimed in, Maclellan's eyes were filled with betrayal.
Did he think he could just toss me Rank 30 and be done with it because I'm Earl Grey's angel? I like eating and drinking too, you know.
"You bastards, when did you get so chummy at ripping me off?!!! If I spend money here, I'll get nagged by our Saint later!"
"If you're buying, I'll join."
Mokjul put down his juice glass and joined in.
"Maintenance costs for Pathos are high, so I'm short on food money."
"Didn't you get paid a lot for the commission???"
Maclellan seemed to have a glimmer of hope.
"Because of that 'operation', we had to deal with 1 Golgotha and 7 Advents, so ammo costs were high."
At that, Maclellan flinched.
"Haaaaah... I'm going to get chewed out by the Saint."
The strongest shoulder of the Southern Cross, who seemed to fear nothing in the world, slumped. It seems he really is scared of that woman named Orangepekoe.
The restaurant Maclellan took us to was ten minutes away from the banquet hall by carriage. In the city center of Nova Crux. It was a vintage shop with no sign, in a stone building that was said to have been built two hundred years ago.
Maclellan threw a card at the entrance, repeated his warnings several times, and left.
"It has no limit, but don't spend over 10 million. Got it? 10 million? 10 million?! Jack, don't go inciting the other Apostles!"
Jack laughed dismissively and gave a soulless answer that he understood. Maclellan looked back three more times as he walked away, seemingly anxious.
If it's 10 million, is that about the price of a carriage in this world? Maclellan is quite generous.
"Sir, is there anything you need?"
A waiter approached. Jack scanned the menu once, then pointed with his finger nonchalantly.
"This wine, olives in oil for a palate cleanser. And the chef's recommendation for appetizers."
The way this guy orders, it looks like he's been here a lot. Is he a rich kid? The waiter's eyes widened when he saw the price tag Jack pointed at. I peeked at the price tag, and it was lined with zeros. A single bottle was already in the millions.
"Wasn't the limit 10 million?"
How are we supposed to survive the night if we blow it like this already?
"Haha, you believe that? We got a corporate card, gotta spend it."
"What a loyal mercenary."
Mokjul said in an emotionless voice. It was obviously sarcasm, right?
At that, Jack teased Mokjul.
"Haha, so you're not going to eat?"
And then, Mokjul's stomach growled.
"...I am a loyal mercenary, after all."
There was no dignity of a Massacre Route protagonist in front of a hungry stomach.
"Once he gave us the corporate card, he told us to use it as we please~"
Soon, the bottle in question arrived. The waiter held it with both hands, showed the label, uncorked it, and poured a sip into the glass for Jack. Jack's series of actions—smelling, swirling, and nodding—was annoyingly natural.
"Oh, this is high-end."
"Right? I'm a Southern noble~"
Jack shrugged shamelessly.
"But is it okay for us to eat something this expensive?"
What if he makes us pay for it later?
Jack scoffed and said.
"Without us, the Southern Cross would be a fallen nation. If anything, this is cheap."
Mokjul nodded.
"Indeed. I'm annoyed that Apostle Maclellan didn't hand over the card immediately to us who saved the country."
Looking at it this way, Mokjul was quite good at sophistry too. Before I knew it, he was pointing at the most expensive steak on the menu.
Dishes began to be laid out one by one. Butter-seared scallops, charcoal-grilled lamb, something covered in a sauce I couldn't even name. They were dishes where you could feel the price just by the smell.
And our glasses clinked. This must be the privilege of the living.
Suddenly, the next table caught my eye. A small, blonde girl in a cloak was wrestling with a mountain of meat all by herself. Solo dining at a restaurant in this price range. What a strange person. I looked away.
That was when. A group approached from over there. It was the Apostles from the banquet earlier. There were six or seven of them. Their steps were unsteady from the alcohol, and malice dripped from their eyes.
"Hey you guys, get up."
"What, here to beg for a drink? Sorry but..."
Just as Jack was about to pour water into his cup. The lead Apostle picked up the water cup. And poured it right over Jack's head. A stream of water flowed down Jack's brown hair. Water splashed onto the table, and plain water mixed into the expensive wine glass.
The restaurant went quiet. The gazes of other tables turned toward us all at once.
"Ha."
Jack laughed shortly. He picked up a napkin and wiped his face slowly; his hand was more polite than necessary. As if he was forcing himself to hold back his anger.
"Acting cocky just because you did a little work. No matter what, you guys are just outsiders."
Mokjul slowly stood up—just before his fist could go up, Jack reached out his arm and stopped Mokjul.
"If we fight here, we're at a disadvantage."
"Yeah, that's right."
The Apostle sneered.
"If you outsiders fight us, the protectors of the Southern Cross, who's going to support you?"
The guys standing behind him giggled.
Protectors. What a funny thing to say. I put down my fork.
"Claiming to be protectors, yet you talk big without a single achievement? If you're bitter, prove it with results."
"You bastard!!!"
A fist flew at me.
I could have dodged it. But I decided to take it. If I dodge or counter here, things will play out exactly as those guys want. It's actually more profitable to take the hit. Since there are this many witnesses. And if I play it right, I can use this as a political tool for Earl Grey.
Thud
A faint taste of blood filled my mouth.
"Hey, Raven, no, Evan!"
Jack jumped up. Veins were popping on his forehead.
"Is it the job of a protector to use violence in a place where Southern Cross people live?"
Mokjul asked.
"Of course! No one can judge us!"
It was too much conviction for drunken bravado. That was sincere. In their worldview, an Apostle of the Southern Cross is truly an entity that cannot be judged.
Jack clutched his head with an expression that asked what kind of mess this was when he just came to eat.
That was when. A clicking sound came from the next table.
What is this now...
"Then I shall judge you!!!"
Clang!!!
A wine bottle smashed into the Apostle's head. The man fell flat on his back. And a girl who had made this ridiculous intrusion joined our table.
She was a girl with golden bob-cut hair. She was wearing a worn travel cloak over a Europa-style knight's formal uniform that I had seen in the concept art.
And she puffed out her chest as if she were genuinely proud of this situation. Judging by her appearance and behavior, she was definitely not a person of the Southern Cross.
"My name is Don Quixote of La Mancha! A knight of Europa and an Apostle!"
Her clear voice rang all the way to the ceiling of the restaurant. It couldn't be her real name, it must be her Apostle name. Anyway, Don Quixote... that was a name I had never heard of either. The girl ignored the fallen Apostle and pointed at us with the hand holding the bottle.
"Are you the heroes of Timor Island?!"
Every gaze in the restaurant shifted to the girl. Jack rubbed his wet face with his hand. Mokjul drank his juice in silence. It was each of our ways of dealing with not wanting to get involved in this mess.
"Why, why are you ignoring me? Didn't I appear coolly and display chivalry?!! Is it not courtesy to at least let me join the table???"
Ugh... somehow, it felt like the start of a very persistent bad relationship.