The Archivist's Apostle (3): Lofty Heavens
Only those who reach the pinnacle in their respective domains can ascend to the seats of the constellations.
The gods who had perfected their divinity through arduous trials all possessed strong egos and preferred to live as they pleased, unbound by others. Without the divine judgments handed down for breaking the heavenly rules, the heavens would have been unable to maintain order and balance.
"Hey, I got here first, didn't I?"
"Ehehe~ Oh, this constellation. You just stepped out of line."
"The line was all messed up, that's all."
"If you stepped out, you're done."
[Akashic Archive Story Recruiter and Investor Recruitment!]
It was thus a rare sight to see gods lining up obediently to maintain order among themselves.
"Well? How about it? My saga is in no way inferior to any magitech engineer's, right?"
At the front of the line.
A handsome blond man in ornate armor, sword at his side, struck a bizarre pose as he earnestly explained something.
Before him sat a little girl on a tall chair, looking down at the male god.
The chair was so high that the girl's short legs dangled far from the floor, but she stubbornly insisted on it, determined to look down on the investors no matter what.
She could endure the discomfort of the hard, high seat, but she couldn't tolerate looking weak and letting her precious apostle be disrespected because of it.
"Hmm... A tale not inferior to mine."
The voice came from a frog figurine wearing a tiny crown, perched on the armrest of the girl's chair.
"Well... I must disagree. Even your sword would turn grim listening to your story."
It was the magitech engineer's voice.
"That's because your sword is 'sword'-black! Hahahaha!"
The magitech engineer's roaring laughter—usually so solemn or angry—echoed through the communicator.
"...Hahahahaha! Ah, that's brilliant. I need to write that down."
"......"
The girl clutched her aching head.
He was a reliable ally in every way, but ever since shedding his anger, his obsessive attachment to this bizarre cheerfulness (by his own standards) gave her a splitting headache.
She'd told the magitech engineer to rein him in, but he'd called it one of his charm points or something.
What a match made in heaven.
The girl flicked her hand dismissively.
"W-wait just a moment! I still have so much more to say! J-just a bit longer!"
The male god, desperate to persuade the girl, was dragged away by a bare-chested, muscular giant.
The male god had a scar right in the middle of his face, giving him a fierce, intimidating presence.
"C-Courage! I still have tons to say! Give me one more chance, please!"
"Sorry, Jimmy."
The muscular god called 'Courage' shrugged and tossed the man outside the line.
"I've made a contract with her, Jimmy. A contract must be honored, right?"
The girl nodded as her eyes met Courage's.
This one's reliable, at least.
The girl beckoned to the line.
Next up.
An elf-born god with green hair and pointed ears stepped forward.
"Pleased to meet you, Dream God. I am......"
Ah.
No.
The girl's head began to droop little by little.
Sleepy.
I can't. I need to scout fun material to help our apostle...
And then.
Her heavy eyelids closed.
* * *
"What... is this...?"
The woman panicked amid the thick, foggy mist filling her surroundings.
She had been holding a memorial for him when she detected an intruder.
Charging at the intruder had been her last moment...
But what was this dreamlike, bizarre space?
To escape this alien realm, the woman decided to move forward somewhere, anywhere.
She didn't know which way was up or down.
She didn't know where she was or where the exit lay.
But staying put wouldn't solve anything.
Even she, an apostle of 'Courage', felt fear in this situation, but she shook her head and ignored it.
Clutching a limited-edition [Archivist] goodie from her pocket tightly, her fear finally subsided.
Even as a god's apostle, it wasn't a divine relic but mere merch that stirred her courage. She pressed on.
The space, choked with thick black smoke, stretched on endlessly.
"......Lend me your strength."
He was dead. Gone now.
But in his final moment, he chose sacrifice, leaving behind a precious will.
A beautiful tale of love between men, passed from the previous Archivist to his successor.
'I'm sorry, Monica... I've burdened you with too heavy a load.'
'I would have done anything for you... To think it ends like this.'
'Don't worry. You can do anything. Who was your master?'
Scenes from the Archivist's final moments flashed in the woman's mind—moments not even in the game, yet she accepted them as real experiences.
"Yes... I am his disciple and his love. As long as his will is with me, I fear nothing."
It felt as if the Archivist was smiling at her from beside her.
Having undergone a mental awakening and overcome all fear, the woman stepped boldly into the deep darkness.
* * *
"......Urp."
It felt like my mind was polluted.
To think my past life's image was being consumed like this.
I never imagined it.
Using dream authority to read the woman's subconscious, I barely held back the vomit threatening to erupt.
When did I ever say lines like that?
I—no, the Archivist—had just smoothly retired to hand off to the weekly boss.
What was with that weird flashback and dialogue?
She made it all up herself. Why believe it's real? And she's Courage's apostle—think of your own god. Why drag me into your weird script?
......Actually, the fan creations for this game I'm making, Akashic Archive, being this active is a good thing.
Even if it doesn't bring me direct revenue, their interactions thicken the fanbase and expand its reach.
In my past life, games with meh gameplay but appealing characters and their fan artists often saw huge positive effects.
So I wanted my players to enjoy that culture too...
"But not like this...... Not like this!"
Why casually turn someone into a gay guy without a second thought!
If it were a female interim Archivist, fine—but a male one? The visuals are off!
Well... Reading her mind felt like cosmic horror from an outer god, but I grasped the situation.
Var Monica, the lowliest apostle of Courage.
A first-year academy student who couldn't accept her favorite character, the Archivist's, death.
Then, somewhere, the Wisdom apostle's grating voice echoes.
Her explosion was inevitable.
After ending the debate (physical) with the Wisdom apostle and finishing class safely, the voice lingered in her.
'The Archivist is dead.'
Dead. Dead. Dead.
The death she refused to accept.
Her denial of her fave's death had reached its limit.
It seemed overkill for just one character's death, but whatever.
Because she loved the Archivist, she'd sought out more info on him than anyone.
As vice chair of the Continental Archivist Association, she couldn't deny he'd sacrificed himself to save the interim Archivist.
So she decided on a memorial for him and, while I was out buying snacks for the constellations, scouted a spot.
She picked an abandoned temple in a remote area, lit candles, started the rite.
Heard my noise, ambushed me—that's the whole story.
......Unbelievable.
To think this was happening somewhere I didn't know about.
A sigh escaped me.
But it wasn't a bad feeling, I guess.
The Archivist is a character based on my past life.
His memorial felt like a funeral for my past self—who died lonely, ignored by all.
Like someone was caring for that past me.
"I'm grateful for that part, but......"
Still, as an apostle defiling and privately using our constellation's temple? Punishment needed.
......And I can't forgive twisting someone into gay on a whim.
So...
This much should be fine, right?
* * *
The goddess flying around protectively near the fallen Dream apostle's body glanced at the bag on the floor.
With a flick of her hand—whoosh—the small booklet inside flew into her palm.
She opened the book and read slowly.
Hmm...
Examining it calmly at first, her mouth gradually gaped open.
Such indecency!
The goddess was shocked by the contents but couldn't tear her eyes away.
By the time she finished and tucked it preciously into her bosom, her face was flushed with excitement.