Apostle of the Evil God (1)

The story of Soul Academy, the game, branched into two great paths. Main, and side.

The main quest, honestly, was nothing spectacular. It was your classic hero's tale — the protagonist sealing away the evil gods that had revealed themselves to the world all over again. Personally, I thought it was a middling story, neither good nor bad.

What people actually loved were the side quests. The tales tied to each individual character, the stories hidden away in this region or that, the lore connected to certain items — that sort of thing.

But here's the thing. A side quest is, in the end, still just a side quest. Whether you clear them or not, the world barely changes. The main quest, though? Ignore that, and the world changes — unmistakably. If the evil gods fully revived, there was no telling what a mess the world would become. Failing the main quest was, quite simply, game over. What happened afterward was something only the world's inhabitants, robbed of their protagonist, would ever know.

How would I know? I'm not one of them.

One thing I was sure of: the evil gods reviving would be anything but good for this world. All the more so for me, the Apostle of Armadi. Even now, every single time I entered an outer dungeon, Agra picked a fight with me over the pettiest things — imagine what he'd do to me fully revived. Nothing pleasant, I can tell you that.

So I had no choice but to keep a close eye on the main quest. Because, above all —

our Heojeop Chief God seemed to want exactly that.

She'd sent me this message first thing when I woke up this very morning. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Whatever happens in your world, shouldn't tormenting me alone be enough? So you do pay attention after all, huh? Or is this just another scheme for how you're going to screw me over this time?

I did hesitate, but it was something I'd already resolved to do anyway. She was even offering a reward — there was no reason not to. So the moment I finished getting ready that morning, I set out for the street alone.

Ordinarily I'd have brought Carl along without a second thought, but the man seemed to have a mountain of Academy work piled up because of me. Nominally, yes, he was a professor now — but a professor was still a professor. There were duties he absolutely had to fulfill, and instead he'd shoved every last one aside to put my requests first. An utterly Carl-like decision, and not a good one. He could only keep staying here if he actually did his job as a professor, after all.

Lady Arln. I beg of you — please make that man see his own duties through first.

When Anton, the Combat Studies professor, said that with his head respectfully bowed, I couldn't very well brush him off, so I ordered Carl to wrap up his work.

After all, what was happening today was the event that kicked off the entire main quest. With or without the protagonist, the people of Academy Street would handle it themselves. One extra person — me — slipping into the mix wouldn't change a thing. Even if danger arose, the place would be crawling with people ready to help right beside me; would Carl's presence or absence really make a difference?

Thinking that, I arrived at the Academy Plaza ahead of schedule and quietly swept my gaze across the square. The guards permanently stationed here were in place as always. There were priests who came out on weekends to perform their charity work, and Academy professors who patrolled the streets on weekends to make sure the students stayed out of trouble. With this much force on hand, even if some Apostle of an evil god launched an attack, they'd snuff it out without breaking a sweat.

Let's see. The main story event was supposed to happen sometime between two and three o'clock, wasn't it? There was plenty of time before then, so maybe I'd knock out some other errands first. First stop: Alsaetin. I needed a new shield, after all.

"You wish to acquire a shield crafted by a dwarven blacksmith, I take it?"

Yes! That's the one!

"Exactly right, Info Peddler."

Ever since I'd conned him out of his money with that bet last time, I'd been mulling over exactly what shield to get. I was planning to acquire an endgame-grade shield before my second year anyway, so there was no reason to hurl ten platinum coins at the problem, was there? Money would soon start needing to go elsewhere, so saving where I could was simply the smarter play. Which was how I'd landed on one particular fantasy race: I would get a shield forged by a dwarf — the undisputed masters of the hammer swing. A shield enchanted and finished by dwarven hands directly would last me all four years... well, all of first year, at least.

"Of course that is possible. For the appropriate price."

Here you go. I'm paying you handsomely!

"Here, Info Peddler. With this, even a merchant who's sold every last scrap of his conscience wouldn't dare claim it isn't enough."

The moment I slid a single platinum coin across the counter, Alsaetin gave a nod. And I wasn't just spouting flattery — I really was paying over the odds. Considering a dwarf-forged shield normally went for seven gold, I was effectively tacking on three gold as a handling fee. Even Alsaetin couldn't complain about that, could he?

"I shall have it in your hands as swiftly as possible."

With his vow to have it ready within the week ringing in my ears, I stepped back out onto the street — and still had hours to spare. Hmm. In that case, why not wander around Academy Street a little? I'd been living at such a breakneck pace that I'd never once taken it easy.

Where to start? Maybe grab some skewers on the bridge where the protagonist and one of his heroines had shared their tragic farewell — cheap things, but supposedly delicious...

Huh?

As I walked the back-alley streets, a familiar profile leapt into my eyes. Hair normally piled high with curls swept back and tied behind her head. Clothes in a white palette she never usually wore. Even a mask, perhaps to hide her face. But she couldn't fool my eyes. And why would she? That outfit was exactly what Joy wore every single time she went incognito in Soul Academy.

Joy? What was she doing here? Normally this would be her hour to be giggling and gossiping away at some social gathering packed with noble young ladies, no? Tilting my head at the oddity, I only truly understood when I saw the shop sign she was gazing up at so wistfully.

Oh. Joy. You came out here for bread, didn't you?

It's a decent shop, sure, but isn't the bakery you love somewhere else entirely? Maybe she was still making the rounds, what with her Academy days being so fresh?

Joy!

"Airhead Lady. What are you doing over there?"

At my voice, Joy turned her head out of pure habit — then, catching sight of my face, whipped it desperately in the opposite direction. That alone gave her away completely, but Joy, apparently convinced she could still salvage the situation, pretended not to hear me and started walking off the other way.

Joy. You're already busted.

"Airhead Lady. Don't tell me you still think you haven't been caught? That's a woefully clumsy, dim-witted call for a duke's daughter, no?"

When I hollered at her retreating back, Joy's shoulders flinched hard. Then, creaking her head around, she produced a voice pitched far, far lower than her usual one.

"Airhead Lady? Who, pray tell, might that be?"

Pffah—

"Pfft."

...Khh.

The moment that voice hit my ears, laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. Wow. Seriously. Look, Airhead ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Lady, I get it — I understand wanting to change your voice. But if you're going to modulate it, shouldn't you do it properly? Your pitch is bouncing all over the place. Who on earth is supposed to believe that? It was so absurd that even Halbae couldn't stop laughing at this point.

The louder my cackling grew, the harder Joy's shoulders trembled, until at last she heaved a sigh and pulled off her mask.

"...How on earth did you know it was me?"

It was written all over you.

"Airhead Lady, it was written all over you. The way you go toddling about, airheaded as ever."

"Who walks like that?!"

Joy shouted that much, then dragged a hand down her face.

"Lady Arln," she said, looking down at me with those signature frosty eyes of hers, and then ventured, carefully, "Believe it or not, the reason I came here was to eat bread."

I know. There's no way Joy would be up to anything shady, right?

"Right. Airhead Lady. You're a spineless pushover who doesn't have the guts to get up to anything shady in the first place."

When I told her I didn't suspect her, Joy's eyes went wide, and her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Had she not expected me to believe her so easily? Well, it helped that I happened to be someone who knew all the circumstances — if she'd been spotted by some loose-tongued socialite instead, there'd have been an uproar. The situation was bizarre enough as it stood: the Duke of Patran's own daughter, in disguise, prowling the back alleys. Prime gossip fodder if there ever was any.

"...Really?"

Yes. Really.

"Airhead Lady. You won't even trust your own benefactor? What a suspicious little coward you are."

"That is not... no. No, it is not. I will trust you."

Joy started to say something, shook her head at herself, and then gave a firm nod. Did Joy truly believe in me, of all people? Or did she simply believe I lacked the connections to spread rumors about her? Knowing her personality, it was probably the former — though the latter happened to be true as well. Even if I did badmouth her behind her back, who would ever lend an ear? Carl, at best, no?

Anyway — Joy, be careful out here, all right?

"Airhead Lady. Quit acting so airheaded. Keep it up, and some nasty little rumors might just start flying about you?"

"...I never thought the day would come when I would hear such words from Lady Arln."

Hearing that, Joy let out another long, deep sigh. Granted, I wasn't exactly one to talk, carelessly prowling back alleys as I was. But come on, Joy — of course people with something to lose and people with nothing to lose behave differently.

Hm? Hold a moment, young miss. I sense the aura of an evil god.

I was just about to tell the deflated-looking Joy that this bakery closed every Sunday when Halbae's voice rang through my head. What? The event is starting already? It's not even lunchtime yet. Apostles, why are you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all so dreadfully punctual? Our Heojeop Chief God said she'd only pay out the reward if I watched this thing happen. Sure, the woman's incompetent at everything else, but she pays her rewards properly, and I really, really want this one. Should I bid Joy farewell right now and sprint straight for the plaza?

Where is it?!

If the attack hadn't happened yet, I could still get there before it did...

It comes this way.

Here? This back alley? Why? The apostle leads his monsters against the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠temple in the plaza, doesn't he? What on earth is he after here?

Flee! The aura runs thick upon this one. As you are now, you cannot withstand it.

My body moved faster than my thoughts. I couldn't just leave Joy behind, so I hoisted her over one shoulder and made for the plaza.

"I came, drawn by the aura of Armadi. So you are but a tiny little brat."

Armadi. The name the evil gods despised above all others — and the one who was, at this very moment, my Chief God. The instant I heard it, a hollow laugh escaped me before I could help it. That useless, incompetent, stingy piece-of-trash Chief God. She truly is no help whatsoever, isn't she?

Biting down hard on my lip, I pulled the mace from my pouch and tried to expand it — and just then, a message floated up before my eyes. A taunt from Agra, watching me from somewhere, maybe? No. It wasn't.

Astoundingly enough, it came from the Heojeop Chief God.