A Promise Worth Keeping

People who say they'll grant any request almost never follow through. If you state your true desire, they usually twist the words or sweet-talk you into settling for something else. Yoahim knew this all too well.

If there was one lesson he'd learned in this game world, it was that the world had far more promise-breakers than promise-keepers. He'd discovered that truth when he first joined a mercenary band, naive and clueless. The memory of finding out the captain was skimming bits from the rookie's pay was still fresh. The rage that followed, charging in blindly only to get thoroughly thrashed—it all lingered vividly.

That was why he never trusted offers like "I'll do what I can." Haellagos probably doesn't mean it either. Yoahim knew better than to demand too much in moments like this. You had to ask for a reasonable reward.

"A reward, you say?"

"Indeed. Speak your desire. New power? Fresh black magic? Rare armament? Or anything else that strikes your fancy."

Offering power likely meant a blessing to boost his stats, like last time. It was tempting enough. The other options were too.

Black magic is definitely appealing.

What Yoahim faced from here wasn't hunting—it was war. Small skirmishes like today's were one thing, but large-scale battles were inevitable. Black magic would be a devastating weapon then, sweeping away hordes of foes and granting massive experience in return. No denying it: enticing as hell.

But I can't master black magic. I'd just be mimicking a black mage at best.

Yoahim was a Dark Knight, not a black mage. His capabilities—and what he excelled at—were set from the start. Black magic was within his reach, but not his forte. Dumping every stat point into Intellect might make him a powerhouse, but it'd squander the Dark Knight's strengths.

And black magic opportunities will come again.

Haellagos had declared himself Yoahim's patron. He wouldn't skimp on investments for his growth. Another major achievement would surely bring more black magic lessons.

Items are tempting too, honestly.

His level had doubled since first meeting Haellagos, but his gear hadn't changed. Ha Meks Han and the oak staff were gains, but mere sidearms. His armor and weapons were the same as when he'd entered Haellagos's dungeon.

Haellagos must have powerful items galore. Maybe even the Ring of Evil Spirits.

Of course, the Ring of Evil Spirits only dropped on killing Haellagos, so no chance there. But a sword, spear, armor, helmet—anything from him would be flawless.

But.

"Then I'll take the new power."

Yoahim passed on black magic and items, choosing stats. Simple reason: the surest path to strength.

Gear makes you strong only while you have it. Stats are yours ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forever.

Curses could reduce them, but that was rare. And curses could be lifted.

"Hmm, new power it is. Very well, receive it as your prize."

Haellagos extended a hand, pointing at Yoahim. Purple mist coiled from his fingertip, soon enveloping Yoahim's body.

"Urgh…!"

Pain hit like the first blessing. Yoahim bit his lip, stifling a groan as the ache faded with the mist.

"New power…."

Yoahim felt the surge, euphoria flooding him. Just like the first blessing—he was markedly stronger.

And a quest update….

Not entirely new, but the choice had altered its course. Since getting trapped in the game, he'd cleared plenty of quests, but few were this compulsory. Most popped up unexpectedly, like killing black mage Veros—no obligation. Do it if you felt like it; ignore otherwise.

But this one, post-Haellagos, explicitly compelled action.

Like a main quest?

RPGs usually had a core storyline to follow. But Genia Saga lacked one, per Yoahim's memory. It had a broad narrative thread, but playstyle was up to the user—no linear progression unlocking towns, skills, or gear.

No main quests. Major ones existed, but no required order—the devs designed it that way for flexible story comprehension.

Either way, a main quest is good. Might lead ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to a way home.

Yoahim decided to stay positive. He had to fight Alzahar's forces under Haellagos anyway. Getting rewards for obligatory work? Not bad.

Should I tell Haellagos about Melos?

With Haellagoria fallen and masses of demons and dark elves slaughtered, sharing Melos's internal strife made sense. But he'd face questions on sources—maybe even suspicion of colluding with Melos's towers.

What to do?

As Yoahim pondered, Haellagos chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with his growth.

"Apostle Yoahim, you are a talent indeed. I wanted to name you adjutant from the start, but… with dissenters like Tilia, I thought earning merits from centurion to rise properly was best."

Considering internal friction and unit cohesion set him apart from typical demons.

No wonder he's Grand Lord of the Withered Land.

Yoahim nodded along.

"You will lead the vanguard of my forces, wielding our banner to shatter Alzahar. We can't drag this out—Melos stirs ominously within."

What? He knows?

Yoahim's eyes widened at Haellagos.

Feeling the gaze, Haellagos grinned. "Surprised I know Melos's affairs? Think on it. I built a dungeon there myself, visiting often. How could I be ignorant? Plus, spies in Melos feed me intel."

Damn, he's insanely competent….

Yoahim got why the adjutants were loyal. Competent, caring, powerful—who wouldn't follow?

"Ahem, then we must crush Alzahar swiftly."

"Agreed. Thus, a new role for you."

"New role?"

"I'll entrust you with five hundred troops."

"What?"

Five hundred? His forces quintupled overnight? Stunned, Yoahim just blinked as Haellagos continued.

"Not just skeleton soldiers—archers, mages, zombies, ghouls. A proper unit. You wield Necromancy, so undead suit you better than dark elves or demons."

"True, but… why me all of a sudden?"

"We're striking Levia Castle soon—for its mana spring. We've stalled till now, but with you, it's changed. We'll hit fast, precise, crumbling Alzahar's power."

Even with Melos's threat, no alliance with Alzahar. Haellagos aimed to slay him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quick, reclaiming Withered Land supremacy—with Yoahim at the fore.

"Your role, as said: vanguard. Advance from the village you took today to Levia Castle, carving the path. Undead handle attrition and logistics—focus on killing and paving."

Dangerous, vital work. Why Yoahim? Trust. Faith.

Yoahim saw it in Haellagos's eyes: unshakeable confidence.

"I trust you, Apostle Yoahim."

"…You really think I can pull it off? For real? Look, Haellagos—I'm still weak."

"You might fail. Lose the mission."

But.

"That's no shame. True shame is not rising after defeat or failure. Why give you undead, Apostle Yoahim?"

"…To challenge again?"

"Yes. You're weak now, but not forever. You learn—from defeats, failures. And triumph in the end. You must."

"Because I'm Kallagon's apostle?"

"Because you're Kallagon's apostle. Proxy of the sealed god, incarnation on earth. One day, you'll lead us all—when my era fades and yours dawns."

"…."

Haellagos's gaze softened. "Remember, Apostle Yoahim: I'm behind you. One stagnant is enough. Advance."

Yoahim chewed his lip. No backing out now. He tsked, clicking his tongue.

"Can I bring my friends?"

"The dark elves? Yes, make them your adjutants."

Yoahim turned without a word, leaving the round table with a curt "I'm off."

Haellagos knows.

He couldn't claim the new era. That seat was the apostle's.

Yet no jealousy. No envy. Just fulfilling his role—as servant of Kallagon, patron of the apostle.

What kind of demon is that…?

Yoahim felt an inexplicable frustration, tsking again.