Apostle Ganis
Apostle Ganis
Guided by Gaf, the knights Campbell and Myra entered the reception room.
“I’ll have some tea brought in. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Gaf tossed the line out curtly, then left the room.
Now, only Campbell and Myra remained.
Myra slumped into a chair and spoke.
“Why don’t you take that helmet off already? Just watching you is frustrating.”
Campbell hadn’t removed his visor even once since arriving at the lord’s manor. Despite Johan’s reprimand, he had stubbornly kept his armor on.
There was a reason for it.
Campbell slowly raised his visor.
“Well, what can I say… I look like this.”
His face was horribly disfigured. Half of it was covered in burn scars.
Most would’ve winced at the grotesque sight, but Myra showed not even the slightest reaction.
He spoke in a calm tone.
“That scar is a mark of your loyalty. You should carry it with pride.”
Campbell grumbled.
“It’s the wound I got from attacking a prince in the dead of night. What’s so prideful about that?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Myra snapped at him.
“Watch your tongue! What if someone overheard you?!”
“No one else is here.”
“You fool. It only takes one careless word to ruin everything. And when that happens, don’t come crying—just remember to keep your mouth shut, understand?”
At Myra’s scolding, Campbell mumbled in a subdued voice,
“Always the nag… I’m not a damn toddler, you know.”
“You little—!”
“Fine, fine! I get it already.”
Myra glared at him, then let out a long sigh.
Softening his expression, he spoke in a much quieter voice.
“You only did your duty as a knight. Thanks to you, the Third Prince fell, and the Seventh Prince got his chance. Be proud of what you accomplished.”
The Third Prince referred to Gawain. The Seventh Prince was the grandson of Count Staviana.
A shadow fell over Campbell’s face.
“I still remember that night vividly. His wild, furious eyes… his sobs… the look of betrayal in his gaze. Sometimes, I still see it in my dreams. It squeezes my heart every time.”
Four years ago, Campbell and several other warriors disguised themselves as assassins and attacked the Third Prince’s palace. It was under Count Staviana’s orders. Their goal was to force Gawain into a frenzy.
The operation was a success. Gawain, branded a degenerate, was cast out of the palace. He had once been the crown prince-designate.
Myra placed a hand gently on Campbell’s shoulder.
“All things require sacrifice. One day, His Highness will rise—and when he does, he’ll recognize your efforts. So hold your head high. Be proud of your scar.”
Campbell buried his face in both hands.
“Even if the Seventh Prince ascends the throne, I’ll never be able to speak of this scar. I’ll have to lie about it forever. Pride? Ha! This scar will only bring me shame. It’s the mark of a traitor, after all.”
He had turned his sword on royalty. Even if the Seventh Prince became king, that sin wouldn’t disappear.
He would never be publicly honored for his deeds.
He was a knight in name only—no different from a shadow agent.
There was no honor in that role.
Myra shook his head in disappointment.
“Tsk. If you’re truly proud, then you don’t need the recognition of others. You still have a long way to go.”
“Yes, yes, you’re always right, brother. This narrow-minded fool can’t even feel good about this mission. The Young Baron? That brat? I don’t see why we had to come all the way to this rural dump for him.”
They could’ve just sent an invitation through a messenger.
There was no need to dispatch two knights.
Myra’s expression grew serious.
“I would’ve agreed with you yesterday. But now… my thoughts have changed. Did that boy really seem ordinary to you?”
“Well…”
“I saw something else. He was overly composed, with a presence that’s hard to explain. Leaving that kind of impression on people isn’t easy. Especially for a boy who’s maybe ten.”
When their eyes met, Myra had felt an inexplicable pressure. A compulsion to show sincere respect.
It had been a very unfamiliar sensation.
“So you’re saying… the Count has sensed something unusual about the Young Baron?”
“Very likely. He sent us here to verify his suspicions.”
“But the Count has never even met the boy. Why be wary of some illegitimate brat?”
“Ever since he appeared, everything changed. Krill committed suicide, his forces scattered. And now the people favor the Young Baron. I heard he adjusted the tax rates and dismissed all the noble ladies. That kind of reform is a direct blow to the Count.”
Count Staviana coveted the Miyatro domain.
More precisely, he wanted the Treasure Vault—the Forbidden Archive.
To him, Johan was an obstacle.
Campbell’s eyes darkened.
“…Don’t tell me we were sent here to eliminate him?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. We’re just here to observe and report. But we do need to give a more detailed account.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Let’s investigate. His background, his connections, his maternal lineage—anything unusual will please the Count.”
Campbell slowly nodded.
“Now I understand why we were sent.”
“The Count wants us to use our judgment, based on what we see.”
Just as Myra finished speaking, there was a knock.
A maid entered, carrying a tray of teacups.
Campbell and Myra exchanged glances and changed the subject.
The maid stood stiff as a board—clearly shocked by Campbell’s scar.
***
“If anything feels even slightly off, close your eyes right away.”
Johan stood surrounded by a complex array of runes.
A mental protection spell from Illea—a minimal safety net, just in case.
“I will. Don’t worry too much.”
“Alright. Shall we begin?”
Johan put on the external goggles.
In an instant, his view of the world changed. Everything in sight was distorted. At the center of that distortion was the massive crack.
Rather than fear, Johan felt an eerie calm. His pupils stared into the void as if entranced.
“…Strange feeling.”
“Johan, are you alright?”
He slowly reached out toward the crack.
“There’s no resistance from it. Your theory was right. The crack isn’t bound by prohibition for me.”
Illea couldn’t even get close to it.
But Johan was different. He felt as though he could step inside at any moment.
He was even instinctively drawn to it.
“That’s good. Let’s stop here for today.”
There was no guarantee the interior of the crack was safe.
Now that the possibility had been confirmed, it wasn’t too late to move forward after securing more stability.
Johan agreed with her assessment.
“Got it…”
Just as he was about to remove the goggles, an overwhelming force pulled at him.
A power he couldn’t resist seized his entire body.
In a flash, his form vanished—into the pitch-black void.
***
Inside, it was both bright and dark.
He felt as if he were standing on the ground, but also hanging upside down from the ceiling.
His vision stretched like rubber, then shattered like glass.
A mix of gentle melody and ear-piercing screaming rang in his ears.
His senses were all jumbled, gnawing away at his sanity.
He was on the verge of madness when a neutral voice whispered into his ear.
“Now, shall we try closing our eyes? It’ll make things easier.”
Too much noise. The meaning didn’t register.
“Hmm… I’ll have to hammer it into your brain.”
Johan’s head began to pound.
『CloseyourEyesCloseyourEyesRightNowIt’sNotHardJustCloseThemAndYou’llFeelBetterComeOnLet’sLowerThoseEyelidsPretendYou’reFallingAsleepAndRelaxCloseYourEyesIt’sTheEasiestThingYou’llEverDo』
At the same time, his eyelids slowly fell shut.
And all the madness melted away.
In the pitch-black darkness, Johan found peace again.
The neutral voice returned.
“Now, I’ll explain the rules.”
His brain trembled again.
『First: Do not open your eyes.』
『Second: Do not remove the goggles.』
『Third: Do not ask any questions.』
The voice continued.
“Simple, isn’t it? You must follow them. If you break them…”
His brain quivered violently.
『Your soul will lose its reason and wander the void. Your flesh will be buried beneath the earth, feeding the Abyss.』
The voice resumed.
“I trust you understand. Let’s begin with a quick introduction. My name is Ganis—known to the world as the Second End.”
The Second Apostle of the End, Ganis. A great demon who governed all forms of corruption—a familiar name to Johan.
“I’m the one who invited you here. When I saw you trying to waste time with talk of safety, I had to use force. I hope you understand.”
Ganis continued.
“You must be wondering why I invited you. Ah, but remember—no questions. I’ll tell you everything. Why did I call you here? Simple. I wanted to help. A miraculous bridge has formed between us, allowing this brief moment of exchange. And I plan to use this opportunity to give you exactly what you need most. And what would that be? A piece of the Great Saint’s corpse.”
To corrupt the Holy Spear Espada, Johan needed a piece of the Great Saint’s body.
“So, is Espada a Grade-4 Holy Relic? Hah! This is rich—offering a Grade-1 Sacred Relic just to corrupt a Grade-4. People would laugh. Well, not me. I understand. You have no choice.”
Johan had none. Better to sacrifice one person implanted with the sacred relic than two thousand innocent humans.
“Here. Take it. It’s slippery, so be careful. Squeeze too hard and it might burst. Haha!”
Something soft and slimy dropped into Johan’s hand.
“Unpleasant texture, isn’t it? Wondering what it is? You’ll never guess. It’s the Great Saint’s intestines!”
Johan already knew. Ganis had been the one who ripped them out 500 years ago and kept them as a trophy.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Not particularly.”
“Ahem.”
Ganis seemed a little embarrassed.
Johan said,
“I don’t know why you’re helping me, and I can’t even ask. So I’ll just say one thing. I’ll make good use of the intestines.”
“Yes, of course. A magnificent relic, after all.”
In truth, the intestines were the most useless part of the Great Saint’s body.
Their only known benefit: automatic waste disposal.
Clean and holy, maybe—but worthless to Johan.
Still with eyes closed, Johan spoke.
“If that’s all, send me back now.”
“…Impatient, aren’t you.”
“I’d like to end this one-sided conversation.”
He had so many questions. But his instincts warned him not to break the rules.
“I understand. Truly. But I have one more gift.”
“Give it.”
“Where should I deliver it?”
“You said it yourself—you’d give it to me.”
“…Fine, here.”
Something leathery was pressed into Johan’s hand.
“This leash binds a mortal who can pass through the crack. You need a living sacrifice for the Heretic Array, right? Snatch someone and bring them in. I’ll draw the Array for you. Oh, and both Espada and your corrupted body are here in this space.”
Living sacrifices couldn’t normally enter the crack. Even if he caught one, he couldn’t place them on the Array.
This leash solved that problem.
Johan was genuinely pleased.
“You’re a surprisingly helpful guy.”
“And you’re surprisingly shameless.”
“Either way, thanks. I’ll make good use of it.”
“No thanks needed. You’ll pay me back eventually.”
Nothing came free.
Johan knew that better than anyone.
Someday, he would pay the price for today.
“Then send me back.”
“You’re… quite the peculiar one. Let’s meet again soon.”
And just like that, Johan’s vision blinked out.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Something soft clung to him—silvery-white hair brushing against his face.
Raguel approached with a sigh of relief.
From Illea’s arms, the furball Imp leapt up and shouted:
“O Great End! Have you vanquished the being from the other world?! Are those items in your hand the spoils of victory?!”
In Johan’s hands were a milky-white lump of flesh—And a black leash.
“…I was worried. Thank you for coming back.”
Illea’s voice trembled ever so slightly.