The Apostle's Victory Feast
“Raise your glasses, everyone!”
The grand hall, solemnly decorated with statues proclaiming the great deeds of the Great Demon, had transformed into a lavish banquet venue. Long tables groaned under the weight of every delicacy imaginable, and demonkin and dark elves in splendid attire lifted sparkling crystal goblets, their laughter blooming cheerfully. High-ranking undead occupied their section in gleaming armor or ornate robes, while demons who had shrunk their forms through transformation tore into juicy meats with gusto.
At the center of the hall, at the head of the round table reserved for the Great Demon and his adjutants, Haellagos grinned broadly as he hoisted his glass high above his head.
“Today is a joyous day indeed! For Kakarli’s proxy and incarnation, the apostle Yoahim, stands with us—this signifies that the greater cause is on our side! With Kakarli’s apostle among us, we shall drive those treacherous betrayers from this land!”
“Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim!”
“Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim!”
“Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim! Apostle Yoahim!”
The entire banquet hall erupted in chants of Yoahim’s name at Haellagos’s call. Suddenly thrust into unwanted attention, Yoahim gave an awkward smile and waggled his glass.
“Moreover, in his first battle, Apostle Yoahim achieved a great victory without losing a single soldier! This proves he is Kakarli’s apostle and clear evidence that our god protects him! With Kakarli’s apostle at our side, who can stand against us?”
Yoahim’s battle had been a skirmish between small units—one that any competent commander could have won with a bit of brains. Honestly, it wasn’t anything remarkable. Such minor clashes meant nothing in the grand scheme of war.
But it had symbolism.
“Today’s battle has shown Alzahar where the greater cause lies! Where Kakarli’s will points! We are Kakarli’s legion—not Alzahar, not Bellrallion, but us!”
The lich Alzahar and Great Demon Haellagos had been locked in a long, protracted war, their forces evenly matched, resulting in nothing but tedious stalemates. But today, Kakarli’s apostle Yoahim had clashed with Alzahar’s troops and emerged victorious.
The scale of the battle didn’t matter. What mattered was Yoahim’s existence.
Yoahim, Kakarli’s apostle, had fought alongside Haellagos against Alzahar’s forces. This meant Haellagos held the orthodox interpretation of doctrine. In other words, all other factions were heretics. Opposing Haellagos was tantamount to defying Kakarli herself.
No matter how mighty Alzahar was, would his subordinates dare go against Kakarli’s will? Unless they were blinded by revenge against Haellagos, no.
My mere existence puts Haellagos in a hugely advantageous position.
Haellagos had shared his power with Yoahim, rescued him from Wichikill’s threat, and escorted him all the way to the Withered Land for this very reason.
If you receive, you must give. Haellagos will probably demand a lot from me in return.
Yoahim’s presence was like a weapon of infinite utility. If Haellagos truly aimed to rule this world, Yoahim was an indispensable ally.
I need to be careful. He might ask me to do something insane.
Yoahim’s goal was self-preservation above all. Apostle or not, he had to survive first.
“Now, a toast! To our hero, our apostle, our hope—Yoahim!”
“To Yoahim!”
“Apostle Yoahim!”
As Haellagos raised his glass vigorously, everyone shouted Yoahim’s name and clinked glasses. Yoahim lifted his own with a reluctant expression.
Once the uproar died down, the banquet truly began. Yoahim settled into his chair at the round table and let out a long sigh.
Demonkin maids bustled about, ferrying food to the table and refilling glasses as needed.
“Huh, this?”
Yoahim took a sip of the red liquid in his glass and widened his eyes. The burst of carbonation, refreshing crispness, and sweetness exploding in his mouth startled him.
“What the hell, this is delicious.”
Cool, sweet, and fizzy—it was dangerously addictive. Before he knew it, Yoahim had drained the glass. Regretting the empty vessel, he was about to ask a passing maid for a refill when someone offered him a transparent crystal goblet.
“Looks like you like it. That’s sangria.”
Looking up, Yoahim saw no face. It wasn’t a joke—there really wasn’t one. The dullahan Gellios had handed him the glass. He set the head he carried in one hand down on the table and continued.
“It’s wine mixed with lemon, tangerine, and sugar, aged for a day, then topped with sparkling water. Low alcohol, so anyone can enjoy it. Even better when chilled.”
“Ah, th… thanks.”
Yoahim fumbled, unsure whether to speak casually or formally to Gellios. He bantered casually with Tilia because she was such an easy target, but addressing this headless knight felt daunting.
What if I go casual and he turns me into a dullahan too?
Unlikely, sure, but still scary. Anyone would flinch at a headless knight.
“Hahaha, you seem tense. Feel free to speak casually—we’re both the lord’s adjutants, after all?”
Fortunately, Gellios had a good personality. Yoahim relaxed a bit.
“Thanks. But I’m not an adjutant yet.”
“You will be soon. Tilia objected, but that was just her being petty. In my eyes, you’ve got what it takes. Hell, you might even surpass the lord someday.”
Not the sort of thing a knight should say. Yoahim quickly glanced at Haellagos, but he was deep in conversation with others and hadn’t heard.
“…That’s disloyal talk.”
“Just my honest opinion. The lord won’t take offense at something like this, so don’t worry.”
Even if a subordinate spoke treasonously, no anger? Was Haellagos more enlightened than he’d thought?
A quick glance showed Haellagos laughing freely with his men.
“You’re the star of tonight’s banquet. Enjoy it to the fullest.”
Gellios extended his glass for a toast. Yoahim clinked his reflexively but paused, staring at the dullahan.
No head—where does he drink from?
Pour it straight down the throat? Or does drinking at the head teleport it to the body? Remote ingestion?
Yoahim stared holes into Gellios, curiosity burning.
“Yo―ah―im.”
Turning at the call, he saw a death knight in gleaming black armor. Yoahim nodded to Aljes.
“Aljes.”
“Good―work.”
“Ah, thanks.”
Aljes fell silent, as if that covered everything. Yoahim turned back to Gellios, but he’d already emptied his glass.
Damn, missed it.
Pity—he hadn’t seen where the sangria went—but there’d be other chances. Yoahim chatted idly with Gellios, Aljes listening quietly nearby.
As time passed, people began gathering around Yoahim. First Halbert came to praise his achievements, then Billad lumbered over clutching a dripping hunk of meat. Dark elves and demons alike approached, begging a glimpse of the apostle’s face.
“Greetings, Apostle! I serve under Lord Halbert as captain of Infantry Unit 2…”
“Apostle, I lead the Toto Merchant Group. I run the largest general store in the plaza. Please visit—I’ll treat you with utmost hospitality.”
Most sought personal connections with Yoahim.
“Ahh, Apostle… Seeing your noble face has set this old heart at ease… Will the day come when Kakarli’s faithful can stand proudly in the light once more? I believe you will lead us… Apostle, long live! Long, long live!”
Elderly demons and dark elves clutched his hand, weeping.
“Apostle! I’d love to see your skills sometime! But you look scrawny—come to the training grounds when you’re free. We’ll toughen you up!”
Belligerent demons approached out of pure curiosity.
Yoahim’s head spun from the nonstop crowd. He tried to handle them calmly.
“Apostle! Have you arranged a marriage yet?”
“W-what?”
The dark elf man who’d introduced himself as chief of the Relly Dark Elf Tribe chuckled.
“Looks like not. A hero can’t be like that! True heroes revel in women and wine! If you haven’t settled on a match, how about meeting my daughter? She’s just the right age.”
What the hell?
Yoahim panicked, but Gellios laughed amusedly and replied for him.
“Chief, how old is your daughter?”
“Seventy-five.”
Too damn old.
Yoahim was dumbfounded until he remembered dark elves outlived humans. Per game lore, fairies and dark elves lived about 300 years—triple human lifespans. Seventy-five was like mid-twenties in human terms. Elves aged slowly anyway.
But seventy-five feels too real. Kinda gross.
Numbers like 500 or 1,000 felt mythical. Seventy-five? Grandma territory.
Yoahim waved it off, rejecting the offer.
“No, it’s fine. I’m not thinking about marriage yet…”
“Hmm, not yet, eh? But hearts can change. Why not meet her and decide? I hate to boast, but my daughter’s famed as the tribe’s greatest beauty.”
“Mm, I’ve heard that rumor. The chief’s daughter is a peerless beauty, right?”
“Haha, even you’ve heard, Lord Gellios?”
“Of course. I’m up on all the gossip.”
Yoahim perked up. He cleared his throat and leaned in slyly.
“Ahem, well, maybe just a peek at her face…”
As Yoahim slowly rose from his chair—
Thud.
The oak staff propped against the table toppled to the floor. It rolled once, then flames erupted.
“Whoa, that startled me!”
The chief yelped in surprise. Yoahim snatched the staff. The fire vanished instantly.
‘WANNA DIE?’
“……”
“Apostle, are you alright?”
Yoahim whipped around to glare at the chief, his face dead serious.
“No, I’m not getting married. Absolutely not! No way, never! I wanna live a long life!”
“Y-yes? Suddenly?”
At Yoahim’s firm declaration, the oak staff trembled as if delighted.