The Master of the Holy Sword -3-
The Apostle of Benevolence's green eyes began to cloud with madness. "Μη με κοίτα με βρώμικος ⲁⲓⲛ. (Don't look at me with those filthy eyes.)" "Μη με κοίτα με άσχημος και αηδιαστικός ⲁⲓⲛ. (Don't look at me with those hideous, disgusting eyes.)"
An explosive glare filled with hatred for everything poured toward Rowen and Yuria. Though Rowen and Yuria couldn't understand the elven tongue, one thing was certain—the emotion spilling from her eyes was unmistakably negative. It was her hatred for humans.
"...This is bad."
As ominous mana began to coil around the space, Rowen clicked his tongue and started putting distance between them. An Apostle's ability was irregular. That unpredictability was why so many powerful warriors fell to the cultists—their powers defied all expectations.
The Apostle of Gentleness possessed the grotesque ability to reshape anything she laid eyes on. The Apostle who wielded an axe had possessed endless regenerative vitality and immense strength; Rowen had learned that firsthand ten years ago when their blades had clashed. He'd heard the axe-wielding Apostle died at that man's hands, but there was no denying how formidable he had been.
Then this elf, also called an Apostle, must wield tremendous power as well.
"..."
What kind of ability did she have? Rowen sharpened his senses, carefully tracing the flow of the elf's mana. She could launch invisible attacks. He needed to focus harder, react more keenly, if he wanted to survive this fight...!
Rowen fell silent at the sight of a single shape rising above the Apostle's head.
"What... is that?"
An ominous device floated in the air above the elf. It was studded with countless sharp spikes, and the mere sight of it sent a chill down his spine. Yes—it was a tool designed for inflicting pain on others.
"Iron Maiden..."
The Apostle of Benevolence gazed at Rowen and Yuria with trembling eyes and murmured softly, "Εγώ θα προστατεύσω ⲁⲛⲟⲕ. (I will protect myself.)"
With those chilling words, massive chains began bursting forth from the Iron Maiden.
—Clatter, clatter, clatter...!
The elf spoke in a cold voice. "Don't look at me."
—Clatter, clatter, clatter...!
"With those filthy eyes..."
*
At that same moment, the sound of solitary footsteps echoed through the temple corridor.
—Tap.
—Tap.
"..."
No words passed between them. A tension thick enough to snap at any moment filled the hallway, yet the two walked forward in silence, eyes fixed straight ahead.
—Tap. Tap.
"..."
The owners of those footsteps were the Apostle of Temperance and the Apostle of Gentleness. The two, locked in a strained relationship, were searching for the Holy Sword together. The Apostle of Temperance sought it to offer to the cult. Elysia, on the other hand, sought it as an offering for the Saint who had saved her. Though they shared the same goal, their desired outcomes differed, so they walked on in icy silence.
Unable to endure the frigid atmosphere any longer, the Apostle of Temperance glanced back at Elysia trailing behind him.
"Hey, Apostle of Gentleness."
"..."
"Are you satisfied with life in the cult?"
—Tap...
Elysia gave no reply to his question and simply continued following him. The Apostle of Temperance let out a dry laugh and shook his head at her cold demeanor.
"A quiet woman, aren't you?"
"..."
"You shouldn't treat me like this. You ought to be currying favor instead... You need to think about the future. Don't you agree, Gentleness?"
"..."
At Elysia's continued silence, the Apostle of Temperance furrowed his brow.
"Hey. Gentleness."
"Focus on the task, Temperance."
"..."
"Acting like a child instead of living up to the title His Holiness bestowed upon you?"
"...Hah. You really do want to die, don't you?"
"...If that is God's will."
—Grip.
The Apostle of Temperance clutched the pocket watch in his coat and felt his eyelids tremble. Just how much did that woman know? She had always been cold—especially toward him and his younger brother. She was the kind of woman who remained unmoved even when her life was threatened. But...
"..."
Something felt off today. It was as if she no longer feared him at all. The killing intent in her eyes suggested she might drive a blade into his throat the moment she got the chance. Growing uneasy, the Apostle of Temperance shot Elysia a sharp look and asked bluntly, demanding to see her true colors.
"Gentleness."
"..."
"What color is the emotion you see in me right now?"
"You already know the answer better than I do."
"I'm curious."
Elysia shot the Apostle of Temperance a glare, then answered with a blank expression.
"Yellow."
"Yellow means..."
"It signifies trust. A warm color that symbolizes faith."
"Hmm..."
The Apostle of Temperance gave a crooked smile and nodded. 'Of course. It was just a needless worry.' He felt relieved, chalking it up to anxiety over things not going according to plan.
The Apostle of Temperance asked again. This time, what color was the Apostle of Gentleness's own emotion?
"Then."
"..."
"What color is Gentleness's emotion right now?"
"..."
"Are you the same yellow as me?"
—Grip.
Elysia squeezed her eyes shut at the smug look in the Apostle of Temperance's gaze, suppressing her rage. Every time she looked in the mirror, the color she saw was...
"Purple."
It was the color of despair that blinded her. At his question, her emotions surged violently. A storm of fury crashed over her—the urge to twist that man's neck right then and there. But...
"...It seems we're getting close."
The fruit of vengeance had to be plucked when it was ripe. Elysia waited for the right moment, biding her time.
—Endure it.
—...
—Even if you want to kill him right now, you must hold back. You know the Apostle of Temperance's ability is a bad match for you, Elysia.
—...
—The moment the Apostle of Temperance takes hold of the Holy Sword, that's your chance. You have to wait until then.
—Saint.
—Yes.
—I want to tear him apart right now. Do I really have to hold back? I'll obey because it's your command, but still...
—Elysia.
—Yes.
—Do you know when a person feels the greatest despair?
—...
—It's when happiness arrives.
The moment the Apostle of Temperance stepped into the room where light was leaking out, a pure white space unfolded before their eyes. In this chamber where hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years might have passed, a dazzling radiance began to fill Elysia's vision. It was brimming with holy power and unyielding strength. The Apostle of Temperance smiled faintly at the sight.
"So that's the Holy Sword."
"..."
"Hard to get a good look at, isn't it?"
"..."
At the very center of the vast space stood a single sword radiating brilliant light. It was unmistakably the Holy Sword—a magnificent blade with a white body, a golden hilt, and a crimson gem embedded in its center, emitting a dazzling glow. It stood proudly before Elysia and the Apostle of Temperance.
The Apostle of Temperance strode toward the Holy Sword without hesitation. Then—
—Hesitate.
He turned to Elysia and gave a small smile.
"Gentleness."
"..."
"I'll hand the credit over to you."
"What are you saying?"
"Exactly what you heard. Draw the sword, Gentleness."
"...."
"The ancient texts say only the worthy can pull the Holy Sword. If it's you—a devout priestess—you should be able to do it."
"...I am one who has abandoned God."
"You once believed in a false god, so draw it."
A chill settled in the Apostle of Temperance's gaze.
"Why are you hesitating?"
"..."
"If you draw this sword, you'll get back the keepsake of your son that you've always wanted... I'll grant you the freedom you've longed for. So why are you hesitating?"
"..."
The Apostle of Temperance let out a weak laugh.
"If you want, I could even bring your child back as an undead. A mindless corpse, of course."
"..."
"Didn't like the joke?"
"..."
The Apostle of Temperance smiled crookedly at the hesitating Elysia.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"..."
"Draw it."
"..."
"I said draw it."
Elysia closed her eyes. At the same time, she saw the Apostle of Temperance's emotions roil violently. Blue. A deep, dark blue—the color of distrust and corruption—began to fill her vision.
"You don't seem scared anymore."
A short sigh. The Apostle of Temperance smiled faintly and began walking slowly toward the Holy Sword.
"That was your last chance. What a shame, Gentleness."
The Apostle of Temperance approached the Holy Sword and spoke in a low voice.
"There was a passage written in the ancient texts."
"..."
"If someone unworthy draws the Holy Sword, they will suffer great pain."
"..."
"Yet if they endure that pain and grip the sword to the end with malice and arrogance..."
"..."
"The evil spirit sealed beneath the Holy Sword will awaken."
"..."
"That is ruin."
The Apostle of Temperance looked Elysia straight in the eye.
"I understand your intentions now."
"..."
"It means you're not afraid of death."
"..."
"I've been thinking. Why are you acting so confident?"
"..."
The space began to distort. The area around the Apostle of Temperance warped grotesquely, writhing in a sinister, eerie dance as he stared directly into Elysia's eyes. In a cold voice, he asked,
"Have you decided to accept death?"
"..."
"You thought dying would be better than living as a slave, didn't you?"
Elysia broke into a small smile and murmured softly, "An arrogant, conceited man."
"..."
—Hesitate.
"An Apostle who loves himself more than God."
"That's an interesting thing to say."
"Who do you love more?"
"...Hah."
The Apostle of Temperance pulled the pocket watch from his coat.
"..."
"Are you afraid?"
"..."
"If you've been provoking people like that, you should take responsibility, don't you think?"
"..."
"We can always appoint a new Apostle."
"..."
"I'll just find someone who hates even more deeply than you do."
Elysia spoke in a cold voice. "Then go ahead and try."
—Twitch.
"See if you can."
The moment Elysia's icy voice and the Apostle of Temperance's trembling pupils pressed down on the space—
"...Whoa."
A single voice rang out from the path they had come.
"So this is the Holy Sword."
A smile bloomed across Elysia's face. At the same time, a sense of dread welled up in the Apostle of Temperance's heart. Sensing danger, he tried to pull away from the Holy Sword in a hurry. But—
—Twitch.
The surrounding objects began to writhe and transform. Yes—this was the Apostle of Gentleness's ability. Elysia was forcing the Apostle of Temperance's hand toward the Holy Sword. His concentration had shattered at Ricardo's appearance. Elysia's eyes held nothing but hatred and murderous intent.
Elysia smiled with madness in her eyes.
"Ah... ah... How long I've waited for this moment."
"Do you want to die, Gentleness...!"
"Ah... Poor man."
The Apostle of Temperance struggled desperately to break free from Elysia's binding. As his thrashing grew more violent, he dropped the pocket watch from his hand, his pupils trembling wildly. Elysia simply stared at the fallen watch with a hollow smile.
She bent down and picked up the watch with her own hands. Holding it up with a mocking expression, she began to apply pressure.
—Crack...!
"...What the hell do you think you're doing...!"
—Shatter!!!
The Apostle of Temperance's words never finished.
"How could you be so stupid?"
"..."
"If I'd known it would be this easy to take, I would've rebelled at least once."
"..."
Elysia smiled with madness and began to twist the space. The Apostle of Temperance reached for the Holy Sword with trembling hands. Elysia, her face alight with ecstasy, spoke.
"Grab it."
And she began dragging him down into hell.