The Apostle's Wager
The Secret Book couldn't hide its incredulous reaction to my words.
"Truly absurd. To possess talent that would astonish even the gods, yet harbor such petty, bourgeois notions."
"Blame my humble origins. I wanna enjoy some wealth and glory for once."
"Hah... Isn't leaving your name as the hero who saved the world the true priority?"
"Heroes can go freeze in hell. My stomach's growling right now. Honestly..." I voiced my biggest gripe from the regression.
"End of Days Executor—fine, whatever. But let's face it: I'm basically unemployed, right?"
The Secret Book sounded flustered at the point-blank jab. "Un... unemployed?"
"Yeah. Unemployed as hell. I had a solid gig as a temple scribe before, but now? Total bum status. Hell, no paycheck or anything."
Put simply, jobless. Sure, you've got this chuunibyou dream of saving the world, but no one's handing out so much as a grain of rice.
"In that sense, the End of Days Executor ranks even below temple scribe. At least back then, I never worried about my next meal. But now? I'm fretting over tomorrow's bread. That's why I'm sticking to Agamemnon for the handouts—not for nothing. Worst case, if the Executor starves to death, you gonna take responsibility?"
The Secret Book seemed speechless, caught off guard by my stream-of-consciousness logic.
"Good gods... To think the great Harpocrates's apostle is this kind of guy. The frustrating part? It's bullshit, but I can't find a counterargument..."
I wagged my index finger at the baffled Secret Book. "Point is, adventure and romance are distant dreams—reality's right here, biting. Even heroes starve without bread."
"Grr... Fine. What wish do you want as reward for saving the world? I'll specially petition Harpocrates on your behalf."
"Harpocrates isn't even around, is he?"
"Not entirely gone. I believe he'll reveal himself at the end of our journey. No—making his presence known again is one of our key missions. Those who know the secrets hold the key."
Not likely anytime soon. Harpocrates was effectively erased from this world. Only the Secret Book and I knew of his existence.
"Alright, whatever. If the old man's not coming back, no one's granting wishes anyway."
But a wish? Now that I'd wrung one out of it, nothing sprang to mind.
"Well, no need to decide right now."
"What?"
I decided to leave it to my future self while pondering. He'd surely wish for something worldly, vulgar, and damn satisfying.
"I'll claim it after saving the world."
"You bastard! How ridiculous a demand are you plotting to mull over till then?"
"Shut it. Or it's strike time."
"Urk... Fine. You damned greedy punk."
In the end, the Secret Book had no choice but to accept. I even demanded an oath, and it swore to uphold the deal solemnly.
"Happy now, you punk? Time to get on with the offering, yeah?"
Needled to death by me, the Secret Book's voice had grown sharp and irritated.
"Sure. Now that I know what End of Days Executor means, let's give it a shot."
"Focus from here on out."
"Got it. Might as well do it right."
The offering ritual was crucial. I had to sacrifice the cannibal giant Thematos to uncover secrets for future trials. I memorized the procedure meticulously as the Secret Book explained.
"Lucky you're sharp-minded. Complex steps, and you've already got it all down?"
"Temple scribe work was all about cramming."
I drew the magic circle on the floor as instructed and began chanting the incantation.
"O god of secrets. O wise one who knows the answers at every crossroads. O being who can place the final truth upon all chaos..."
The chant dragged on endlessly. Over five minutes of nonstop recitation, and it still wasn't done. No wonder the Secret Book praised my memory.
Then the atmosphere shifted. Something was coming.
"It's starting. Stay sharp! No mistakes allowed!"
I wanted to ask what the hell was happening, but I couldn't break the chant. At least it was nearing the end—that was some comfort.
"O great master of secrets, Harpocrates... Urk!"
Suddenly, a sticky, suffocating something enveloped my entire body. Crushing pressure hit like I was about to die. Like plunging into the pitch-black ocean depths, unable to breathe, desperate to surface and end it all.
"Peleus, endure! Can't handle this much pressure? No dealing with gods!"
The Secret Book was yelling beside me. According to its prior explanation, this ritual summoned a transcendent being—not Harpocrates himself, but a servant under him. Normally, a mere human couldn't even face it without melting into goo, let alone converse. But as Harpocrates's chosen apostle, I'd suffer no real harm. Just excruciating pain and terror.
"Now I call your servant—descend here and whisper the great records of the Akashic to the chosen apostle, revealing the world's secrets."
The chant ended. Everything clicked into place.
Whoosh!
BOOM!
It crashed in like a tidal wave. Vast chaos and darkness surged from some distant dimension, poised to devour everything here. It felt like it'd sweep us away in an instant—I barely held back a scream.
"Arrrgh! Damn it all!"
As the towering wave of chaos—like a skyscraper—barreled toward me, a monster unlike any I'd seen emerged.
A grotesque, writhing abomination approached. "What the hell... that's a god?"
The summoned entity was a colossal snail-like monster, dozens of meters long. Slug-like in overall form, but its details screamed otherworldly horror from the abyss—indescribable.
To me, accustomed to Olympus's beautiful deities, this was no god. Pure eldritch monstrosity.
Sensing my irreverence, the Secret Book warned hastily. "Show respect! This is a god serving under Harpocrates."
Per prior info, offerings weren't given directly to the Secret Book. Though it spoke as if it'd devour them, a separate entity received them and read the Akashic secrets aloud. Higher-dimensional aid was required for such feats.
[Uwo─oo─!]
The massive god halted before me, emitting a low rumble like a pipe organ that vibrated my whole body. First encounter, but one thing was clear: no goodwill in that cry.
Thus, the Secret Book hurriedly shouted. "First Scribe! This is the apostle predestined by Harpocrates himself. Unsatisfactory or not, withhold your wrath!"
It tried speaking up for me. But the other ignored it, venting fury at me on sight.
[Wooo─! Uuuuugh─!]
The pressure intensified with the god's rage. Honestly, I couldn't take much more. Something sticky and warm trickled down my cheek—blood. Were these blood tears? My throat burned like fire, guts churning.
I couldn't hold back. "Enough! You lunatic! I'm Harpocrates's apostle! If you serve him, you can't treat me like this!"
My bellow cut its cry short. The Secret Book, mid-excuse, stared in shock. No face, but its disbelief was obvious. Are you insane? it wanted to say. Fidgeting before the god's oppressive silence.
Regret hit post-yell. Grr, even for a god, calling it crazy might've been too much.
But the response defied expectations.
[Hmph! Tougher spine than expected.]
Like, Useless overall, but at least one redeeming trait.
The "First Scribe" didn't rage at my insult. Puzzled, I sensed its tier far exceeded my guess. It simply didn't care about a worm like me. Like how few humans seriously rage at an insect's chirp. Lesser gods like Cycnus, mingling with mortals, might fume—but not this.
"Hm... Something's off."
[What's so strange, worm?]
Surprisingly, the god replied to my mutter. I wiped blood from my mouth and grumbled.
"You ignore my curses like I'm beneath notice—which I am. So why the instant fury at first sight?"
Like raging at a roadside grasshopper.
[Heh, a human who grasps divine perspective. Correct. I ignore a worm's words. But your existence offends me.]
"How so?"
The god's furious voice boomed, shaking the area. [A pathetic worm like you, chosen as Harpocrates's apostle! How dare such a lowly thing bear this mantle!]
Its roar whipped up a storm. The Secret Book and I tumbled back disgracefully.
[I see you're special for a human. Still just a worm. The battles ahead are for transcendents staking the end of days. I can't fathom Harpocrates's will! Why elevate a mere human when superior young transcendents oppose Olympus?]
Now I got it. The First Scribe resented Harpocrates picking a weak human apostle.
But I didn't volunteer for this fate. Nodding along had limits. I was getting pissed too.
"You think I wanted this spot? What am I supposed to do about your master's choice!"
[Gutsy once against a god—foolish twice. Human.]
"Shut up! If you've got eyes, look! Zeus's divinity dwelling in me! And Heracles's treasure!"
Anyone knowing Zeus's divinity's might couldn't dismiss me as "just human." Heracles's jewel was a divine relic beyond full appraisal.
But this wise god pierced my powers' flaws instantly. [Amusing. I grant those two are impressive. But fleeting as morning dew.]
"What?"
[Aren't they? Foolish human. Zeus's divinity—that capricious god can reclaim anytime. Heracles's jewel? A physical object. Who knows if you'll lose it tomorrow?]
Spot on. My strengths were peerless yet fragile.
"So you acknowledge the power itself?"
[Naturally. I'm not so rigid. But how will a worm like you resolve those issues? Hahaha! Absurd. Absorbing Heracles's jewel might take eons—if possible. But Zeus's divinity? It seems mercifully granted, yet Olympus's king is the ultimate miser—coldly pragmatic, no?]
Zeus bestowed it to test my worth. Let's see what you do. Displeased? He'd yank it back. Divinity fragments were vital—splinters of his essence. Mortals couldn't refuse return.
"I know."
[Then no need for more words. Your talents are temporary, tied to the whims of the very Olympian lord we must topple. How can I not lament?]
The god roared again. I drew Zeus's sword, jamming it into the ground to brace.
"Damn...!"
My fluttering cloak tore, sending me flying back. Zeus's divinity would vanish someday too.
But the First Scribe underestimated me. I had more than those two. Over ten years, Harpocrates made me read the golden tome. That was my irreplaceable foundation.
As the gale died, I steeled myself and shouted. Do or die.
"First Scribe!"
[What?]
"Let's bet."
[What?]
The god paused, baffled. Never dreamed a worm would propose a wager.
"I'll solve every issue you raised. Then acknowledge me?"
[I'd have to. But it won't happen—utterly foolish proposal. Kekekeke!]
It seemed amused by the worm's bravado. Dropping surprise, it proposed terms first.
[Solve it, you win. Fail, I win. If I win, I have demands.]
"What?"
[Forfeit your apostleship. Only your voluntary abdication frees the seat. Annoyingly, as Harpocrates's servant, I can't act hostile toward his apostle.]
Ah, so that's why it hadn't smited me despite disgust.
"Deal! Fail, and I step down!"
[But restrictions apply. No aid from me, the wager's subject.]
"No offerings for questions? Like 'how to stop Zeus reclaiming divinity'?"
[Precisely. Decent head on a worm. Though such rituals couldn't yield those secrets anyway.]
The First Scribe flicked Thematos disdainfully with a protruding tentacle from its slimy body.
"Fine! Accepted! Now hear my terms."
[Speak. Your petty, wormish desires.]
Its toothy maw curled smugly. Sensing my doom? Maybe this was a ploy to goad me into quitting.
Too easy against a human, it'd think. Pity. This Peleus wasn't so simple. I'd make it pay for scorning my ten years of tome-study.
I inhaled deeply, stood tall, and bellowed—with venom.
"If I win! You damned snail spawn! Become my servant from now on!"
Blasphemy beyond blasphemy against a god.
The Secret Book, who'd suffered in silence, finally burst. "You! Peleus, you crazy bastard!"