Chapter 196
Chapter 196
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 196
Chapter Title: Alma
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"Alma."
The fifth apostle of the Wrathful One, the snake that devoured herself, Lamia Alma Alloi, crossed the wall of the world and heard the voice calling to her.
Alma, who had just opened her eyes in her command tent, watched as the world contracted around her.
She was sitting perfectly still, yet the entrance to the command tent pulled closer, the proud encampments of the Allied Kingdom's soldiers beyond it compressing inward. The trainees returning from dawn exercises, the forests and plains of the Fourth Continent forming the distant backdrop—all of it squeezed into her field of vision.
The landscapes within her sight narrowed into lines, crossing the boundary between sea and sky, until they filled with the familiar grand hall of the Wrathful One.
As the countless doors of the Wrathful One's hall opened one by one, a massive throne atop a high dais came into view, and Alma's sense of reality returned.
The Wrathful One gazed down at Alma Alloi, flames spewing from the corners of his eyes.
The Wrathful One had summoned Alma from the continent.
Alma nearly collapsed from the dizziness crashing over her head.
But she mustered her focus and endurance, twisting her long lower body to straighten her waist.
"Alma."
"Yes, Wrathful One... Did you call for me?"
The lamia realized her attire was a mess but couldn't bring herself to adjust it.
If viewed merely as a superior and subordinate rather than a god and his mortal servant, the Wrathful One wasn't a bad boss.
But even the Wrathful One had his bad days.
Especially after clashing with Yacheon and his pantheon of gods.
"Do you know why I called you?"
Alma bowed her head.
An apostle of Alma's caliber oversaw dozens of major and minor operations directly, and hundreds more indirectly.
She wasn't a god; she couldn't know the instant every issue arose.
She had some suspicions, but guessing carelessly before the Wrathful One would be foolish.
"I'm sorry. I don't know."
"Two percent of our total faith just vanished."
Alma, now accustomed to divine speech and scales, understood exactly what that meant.
Small if deemed small, large if deemed large.
Currently, about half of all faith resources sustained the front lines at all times, while the other half was reserved for creating minions on demand, performing miracles, or empowering minions and priests in battle.
A single major battle could deplete faith resources to near zero.
'But if it's temporary, there's no reason for the Wrathful One to take it so seriously.'
Alma narrowed down the culprits to tasks under her watch that involved massive faith flows. She could likely count them on two hands.
Before Alma could deduce further, the Wrathful One spoke first.
"Alma, did you know about the vampires?"
"...Yes."
Alma could now pinpoint it to one issue.
It had happened roughly a century ago.
While waging a war of unification in the Garang Kingdom and its environs, Alma Alloi noticed frequent disappearances in a certain valley and began an investigation.
That probe uncovered a single vampire.
Alma thought to eliminate it immediately but first reported it to the Wrathful One.
The Wrathful One's thinking differed from hers.
Knowing the vampire had fled another god, the Wrathful One mimicked that deity to offer false comfort.
The vampire, deceived into worshiping a fake god, became proof of faith, spreading that false belief among the slaves.
Those slaves believed salvation would come someday, binding themselves to the Wrathful One even in death.
One of the Wrathful One's countless schemes; he likely didn't remember it as anything special.
Such matters were threads tangled endlessly beneath the web of causality—impossible for anyone, even a god, to unravel easily. Alma hadn't deemed it particularly important either.
Yet his nemesis, that demon god, had found the thread.
Alma said,
"I sent the Fangs after them. But..."
"Yes. It seems they failed."
The sharp metallic rasp echoing from the Wrathful One's helm chilled Alma's heart.
Del was competent, and the labor camp's defenses were thorough.
When she heard they'd been spotted on the train, she thought it was no longer a concern.
'That was wrong. Sending Del out there let them pinpoint the location.'
The Wrathful One said,
"Yacheon didn't just steal their faith—he told them that false god was himself."
"Such...?"
"I deceived the slaves with chains of hope, but Yacheon snatched them away."
Alma realized the problem was far worse than she'd imagined.
The lost 2% of faith couldn't be viewed so simply.
The laborers hadn't just realized their god was fake; they'd begun worshiping Yacheon as the savior they'd longed for.
They'd follow him with even greater devotion than they'd given their former master.
Moreover, the vampire had been forced to perform an excessive number of miracles to sustain that false faith.
The faith used for those miracles came not from the Wrathful One, but from Yacheon.
'So the gap isn't 2%—it's 4%... no, definitely more.'
This was critical.
On raw faith volume alone, the Empire held more.
But the Empire didn't employ the Allied Kingdom's coercive policies, so it spent more maintaining minority races, scattered rebels, and wars with nations beyond the Alliance.
That gap balanced their power perfectly.
There was a reason borders hadn't shifted for so long.
'But this has broken the balance.'
If the gap widened beyond 5%, it wouldn't just be a matter of raw power.
Faith-fueled miracles, minion deployments, and priestly might held greater strategic and tactical value.
In past wars with the Empire, the faith gap had occasionally hit 5% or more...
'But this isn't temporary. ...It's enough to overhaul the Alliance's entire war doctrine.'
No apostle's status could atone with mere life for this.
Alma prostrated herself, hands flat on the floor.
"Punish me."
The Wrathful One—Hegemonia—fell silent for a moment.
Hegemonia knew her own playstyle.
Sharp, but stubbornly consistent in execution.
Rather than weaving grand narratives, she exploited enemies' mistakes with animalistic instinct at perfect timings. That stubbornness brought her victories.
'But it doesn't always lead to win.'
Especially against players like Nebula.
No openings to exploit, and even if one appeared, she'd turn crisis into opportunity with cunning plays. Hegemonia struggled to leverage her strengths.
She'd thought time would favor her eventually.
Even the most skilled players lose focus.
Past errors grow glaring over time.
But it was her edge that had dulled.
One of countless unchecked variables, flung about carelessly, now demanded repayment like mounting debt.
'My fault.'
Alma was a loyal subordinate.
She'd reported it steadily, never deeming it critical—but Hegemonia had ignored it.
Hegemonia, the Wrathful One, said,
"This isn't the time for rewards and punishments."
"But..."
"Thunder drakes have appeared in Lubeil. I've already dispatched the First Apostle."
The first apostles—representing the might of the Wrathful One and Yacheon—had clashed for ages.
But Alma sensed this battle would differ from the rest.
"By my calculations, the current gap is 7%. Once the afterlife tithes kick in, it'll widen further."
"..."
"At this rate, we'll carry that gap and lose slowly."
Flames roared within the Wrathful One's horned helm.
"Rise, Alma. It's total war now."
Rakrak's spear blade thrust toward the Fang operatives and guards.
Lightning crackled between blade and ground.
Soldiers caught in it burned to death before they could flee.
'...We're dead!'
In that instant, something plummeted from the sky.
-Boom!
The shockwave aimed at Rakrak blasted dust outward in concentric rings.
Rakrak blocked the descending hammer with his spear shaft, but the ground beneath him cratered deeply.
The tunnel end behind Rakrak collapsed into roaring flames.
Rakrak said to the one wielding the hammer.
"Salkait."
The Wrathful One's first apostle, great chieftain of the Earless Tribe and founding king, the Earth-Shatterer Salkait, replied.
"Rakrak... It's been a while."
Rakrak deflected the hammer while sliding his spear shaft aside.
Salkait, hefting a warhammer the size of Rakrak's head, dodged the integrated spear-blade and swung again.
Offense and defense traded blows, filling the sky with thunderous roars and shaking the earth with quakes.
The two apostles' duel was a living natural disaster.
Each glancing blow ensnared even distant onlookers, so Fang operatives, guards, and laborers fled without distinguishing friend from foe.
Rakrak dodged Salkait's strikes and shouted to Ramin.
"What are you doing? Save Hwi-kyeong!"
Ramin thought he couldn't move a step, but Rakrak's voice made it clear he had to.
Hwi-kyeong and Juran were being dragged far away by the fleeing Del.
Salkait narrowed his eyes and hammered down toward Ramin.
At nearly a hundred meters, Ramin wondered if it was a miss.
-Boom!
But the ground split, the fissure racing to his feet—he rolled away just in time.
The earth fractured, fault lines grinding past each other.
Ramin felt nauseous on the bare dirt.
Salkait laughed.
"Haha! Think you can make it?"
Rakrak swiftly raked Salkait's nape with his spear blade.
Clash resumed.
Ramin dashed forward, ground crumbling beneath each step, terrain surging higher than his head. He tumbled repeatedly, smashing his head and scraping his knees.
"Run!"
Dust clouds obscured everything, yet Rakrak's voice rang out.
Ramin gritted his teeth and crested a hill.
'Just over this...!'
But the sight atop it nearly buckled his legs.
-Groooar...
A house-sized golem.
Made entirely of stone, this monster was common on the Allied Kingdom's frontlines—a siege golem.
'Right... This is Allied Kingdom territory. If the Wrathful One wills it, he can summon these beasts anytime.'
Hegemonia used standard player templates for her minions, and siege golems were a popular counter to rivals.
Strong, durable.
No fancy traits, but perfectly efficient.
'Not just sent out casually—they resist lightning and blades. A guardian meant to block me.'
As Ramin pondered if he should be glad their god had noticed him, the siege golem's fist plummeted toward his head.
-Thud!
The impact echoed behind the hill, and Salkait laughed.
"Hahaha! Black drake, what a shame. Here, the Wrathful One can lend his power anytime."
"..."
"If only I had more hands."
Rakrak said,
"When did I say I came alone?"
"...Huh?"
In life, Rakrak led his army, flanked by famed warriors.
That invincible host knew no defeat.
No one was ignorant of the legend.
Time passed, and as Apostle Rakrak's renown—his level—rose, more legends converted to power.
Now the Thunder Drake Emperor could summon warriors from his storied past.
Ramin, raising his sword to block the siege golem, noticed the shadow shielding him.
A lizardman raised a shield, halting the golem's blow.
A lizardman, but not Rakrak.
"Who...?"
The black-scaled lizardman, faintly wreathed in blue glow—not of this world—turned to Ramin.
"...Muel."
"Me?"
"No."
The lizardman shoved back with his shield.
Pure strength staggered the siege golem, forcing it back a step.
The lizardman lifted his head, glaring at the golem.
"My name is Sai-ran Muel."