The Artificial Apostle
Sara reveled in the banquet like a thorn protruding sharply. But Lenoir merely observed it. They were similar, yet different. It all came down to purpose.
In the process, Lenoir came to a realization. The capture of faith follows much the same method for all. There might be minor differences in detail, but it was merely a matter of how well they disguised well-known techniques. He had hoped to uncover the root cause of why divinity proliferated so wildly in this era through them, but gauging that much from a mere banquet hall—far from their true headquarters—was a futile endeavor. There was no reason for fresh disappointment. He simply needed to grasp who lay at the heart of each denomination and to what level they had risen. That was his mindset. Until he laid eyes on Justina.
Peculiar.
Malik's divinity differed from the others. As befitted the denomination with the greatest influence in the capital, its total volume and density were unparalleled. There was nothing particularly strange about that in itself, but another aspect posed a problem.
Refined to that degree?
The way Justina's divinity was coiled felt all too familiar. Of course—did not someone with divinity in that exact form sit here among them even now?
An apostle.
She was the same as Joseph. An individual who had received authority through blessing. It should not have been possible. For that was the stature of a soul born from the flow of the creators' essence downward. And yet, she existed. Thus, she was what one might call an artificial apostle.
An unexpected clue.
Is someone among my siblings behind Malik?
Lenoir already half-suspected that one of his siblings was meddling in this era's currents. Otherwise, an event of this magnitude could not have progressed in one direction over such a long span. Fabricated gods, fabricated apostles, fabricated faith. They were gradually taking on forms reminiscent of the mythic age.
Was it not disconcerting? He knew not the purpose, but it was clear this would prove a tremendous obstacle to Sara's denomination.
An investigation is needed.
Lenoir etched Justina's name into his mind. Probing into her and Malik's backgrounds might yield some lead. That was the banquet's harvest—precisely that much. As for the rest, well, he learned the nobility were more favorable toward the goddess faith than expected (though owing to ties with Pterin, of course), proving the denomination was hardly lagging in integrating into their society.
He would likely receive invitations to minor gatherings from various houses soon enough. A brief appearance at those would gradually incorporate them into that world, and one day, some might even convert to the faith for outward reasons, staging such events.
And so the banquet concluded.
Four days after the banquet, Lenoir received information on the Malik denomination. Pterin's intelligence network proved immensely useful, not to mention the king's covert support.
Lenoir perused the details methodically.
Two hundred years.
Among modern denominations, it was founded in a rather transitional era. Yet within the royal domain, it boasted the longest history. Before Malik's establishment two centuries prior, religions had not been so systematized. Typically, those who revered power in places close to authority had gathered it for the nation's benefit. It was around then that faith was defined separately from state power.
Lenoir sought to discern the intent.
A smooth supply of faith?
Perhaps the issue lay in faith being divided among too many targets for absorption. In the end, faith subsumed by the state inevitably mingled impurities like belief directed toward the sovereign. Unless a god's soul reincarnated, as with Sara, no human could ascend to divinity merely by upholding faith. The waste was excessive.
Thus, they fully separated faith's supply through the form of a denomination, and since that attempt succeeded, here we are.
Justina. However she was made remained unclear, but an artificial apostle—who should not exist—had been created.
Lenoir skimmed her life history from various investigations.
A child raised in an orphanage affiliated with the denomination. A place to gather and succor children afflicted with mana addiction.
He scoffed. More accurately, they had selectively gathered such children to form a breeding ground.
She showed exceptional piety. Likely nothing more than an intense longing for life.
Her mind was fixated enough to suit bearing divinity.
At fifteen, she joined the headquarters.
Probably then that the process to become an artificial apostle truly began.
The title of saintess was the first she received in Malik's denomination, they said. At seventeen, after a two-year gap. On the surface, nothing special. Merely a deeply pious girl embodying the god's miracles to speak on its behalf.
To one who knew, it brimmed with suspicion. The purpose was too evident.
By now, he was certain. Whichever sibling it was, they sought to recreate the mythic age's denominations. He knew not the aim. But judging from centuries of relentless attempts, one thing was clear.
Madness must have taken them firmly.
Half pity, half acceptance. None of his siblings were sane, and Lenoir himself had lived centuries in a state hardly called normal. But if they obstructed, he would eliminate them. Loyalty and duty were separate matters.
Lenoir neatly organized the received intelligence. Was there need to drag this out?
"Tomorrow, let us visit the Malik church together."
"Eek! We're going to see Big-Titty Sis?"
"It is an exchange between denominations."
"Yep!"
What on earth did enormous breasts signify to this child? Lenoir even pondered gravely whether growing up orphaned, deprived of a mother's love, manifested as such a fixation. Sara's psyche was a profound issue for him, hence the reflection. Of course, Sara simply liked big tits. Far too simplistic a desire for Lenoir to comprehend.
The next day, Sara and Lenoir visited the Malik denomination. A pretext was easily fabricated: the banquet encounter left a deep impression, so they sought to build rapport. Vague enough to defy rebuttal. They might dismiss it as beneath notice, but with Pterin behind the goddess faith, antagonizing them offered no gain. Thus, it was no surprise the saintess personally hosted them in her private garden.
Sara was thrilled to meet Justina again. That overwhelming abundance evoked awe akin to beholding an eternal masterpiece. Swallowing drool, Sara said,
"Gulp, h-hello! Saintess! Was that rude? Oh, you heard that!"
"No, I was eager to see the goddess again myself. I'm grateful you came first."
Justina beamed sweetly. Sara could not know her thoughts. Lenoir had briefed her: today's goal was to keep Justina occupied here. No reason for Sara to refuse.
"I, I just wanted to chat a bit...!"
"Heehee, I'm honored. What would you like to discuss?"
Sara glanced around furtively. No one in sight. Lenoir had said he'd suppress his presence today, likely off scouting. Perfect alone time.
Now was the moment.
"Um...!"
"Speak freely."
Thus encouraged, she spoke freely indeed.
"Boobs...!"
"...Pardon?"
"Boobs—how do they get that big? Doesn't your neck hurt? If it's not too rude, could I... just once—no, exactly three times—give them a squeeze...?"
Sara's eyes held not a shred of ulterior motive. Pure reverence, as expected from the incumbent goddess Sara Lorojin. She had grown clever enough to know idle words earned scoldings. In other words, clever enough to know uncaught idle words went unpunished.
Justina's lips twitched ever so slightly under that intense gaze. She had fretted over inter-denominational posturing or scouting for power plays—only for this absurd question to make her feel foolish. But if played right, she could roll this girl in her palm effortlessly. The first two were whatever; granting the latter request too was feasible. No lechery sensed, and a girl besides. Easily framed as awe-tinged envy.
"Hmm...~"
Justina hummed thoughtfully, feigning deliberation. Sara's eyes sparkled. A talent unknown even to Sara Lorojin herself: her conversational style that short-circuited brains. Justina, facing her, forgot all about Lenoir.