Fallen Apostle Volume Two Chapter One: Ambrosia (1)

Darkness was an odd thing. It could represent the greatest of fears—what went bump in the night, the horror of the unknown, a sort of malevolent, all-encompassing, cross-cultural manifestation of insecurity. But on another hand, it could represent peace—the lulling embrace of sleep, an escape from the harsh rays of the sun, a sort of solidarity brought about by quiet and solitude.

This sort of duality was especially poignant for Leonidas.

To him, darkness symbolized the fading of another day, the victory associated with having survived once more.

Still, while it could represent the happiness of victory, it also came with an inherent shame, the kind rodents were ignorant of as they scavenged to fill their bellies.

Days and their passing had always come with both push and pull for Leonidas. It was only recently that it lost its monotony, morphing from another opportunity to survive into an opportunity to improve, to strengthen himself, to change his fate.

But these dingy, dark and damp dungeons of the Church seemed to dredge back up that familiar humiliation.

Whether it was the rusted iron that bound his wrists and ankles, the rotten mold that tickled his sensitive nose, or the uncomfortable stone floor he was forced to sit upon, none oppressed him worse than this darkness.

It had been two days since Leonidas was arrested for trial. In that time, he had sat here without a word, his eyes closed and his body resting.

Under normal circumstances, things wouldn't take so long. Given what Leonidas understood about this situation, though, it wasn't too surprising at all.

The sudden explosion in the sky that took place what was now three nights ago wasn't something that could be easily ignored.

Official challenges between two Sub-Shrines were quite rare as they were akin to painting oneself into a corner. In order to initiate such a challenge, one needed to receive the Blessing of their God. To go to the lengths necessary to accomplish this meant risking displeasing your God by failing.

The fact that Swallowing Tusk had chosen this path meant one of a few things, or even a combination of them all.

It was either they were confident in their victory, that the Apostle Leonidas had killed was important enough to their Deacon that they had ignored the consequences, or that an accumulation of conflict over 20 years had finally reached its boiling point.

If Leonidas was correct, it also wasn't unlikely that this matter could be related to the unearthed Fallen Apostle hideout.

He still remembered Lady Eve's surprised reaction when they found an encampment of Lower Ogres guarding the entrance.

If Leonidas were in the shoes of the Swallowing Tusk Deacon, upon stumbling onto the deaths of so many Lower Ogre Knights, he would believe that a treasure he thought himself to have monopolized was snatched away by another.

In that case, rather than giving those of Violet Waters time to benefit from this treasure, it would be better to attack sooner rather than later.

There was a six-month period between the incident with the hideout and the death of their Level 2 Apostle at Leonidas' hands. This was why Leonidas wasn't willing to believe that the situation was cut and dry. There were politics involved in this that he was still ignorant of.

Regardless, facing such a coming threat, the Apostles of Violet Waters didn't have the luxury of dealing with him as simply as they wanted to before.

The death of an Apostle now weighed far heavier, especially after Leonidas had displayed the ability to kill a Level 2 Paladin without much issue. He had proven strength.

The Rardins likely wanted to kill him as soon as possible to rid themselves of a thorn.

At the same time, Leonidas wasn't under the illusion that the Bruthers would want to save his life. It was rather that they had no way of guaranteeing that the Apostle spot that would vacate after his death would fall into their hands, and as such, it was better for them to have a known opposer of the Rardins in Leonidas, than to risk gaining an additional enemy.

Unfortunately, the evidence was against Leonidas.

He had indeed killed the two butlers of Gauteron. And, while he hadn't killed the House Lady Beccerth, it was difficult to prove otherwise.

Restrained by this much, there was only so much Deacon Bruthers could do to stall what felt inevitable.

This also felt like the least of Leonidas' worries. The weight of the disappearance of his mother's corpse was suffocating.

Had a strong wind blown it off a cliff?

Had a scavenging beast taken her remains to be a cheap meal?

He had so much miscellaneous knowledge floating around in his mind that he could think of dozens of natural phenomena that could have led to this result.

Back then, he had had no other choice but to leave his mother's corpse on that cliff ledge. But now, the guilt was eating him up inside.

It wasn't that Leonidas hadn't thought of the possibility that someone else had taken his mother's corpse, it was just that he couldn't understand the reason why.

What use was a corpse?

If his mother was so useful dead, then why not kill her much earlier?

And, if she was only useful alive, why allow her to be hounded to death in the first place?

The last words of House Lady Beccerth echoed in his mind. She had only barely managed to say the Rardin family name before whatever restrictions she was under caused her head to implode.

But that wasn't enough information.

Why the Rardins?

What did they need his mother for?

What use could she possibly have?

Was this related to how his mother had managed to get a Healer for him in his youth?

In these two days, drenched in this darkness, Leonidas had lost count of the number of times he had allowed these thoughts to roll in his mind.

As though he was constantly circling a drain, he couldn't leave the infinite loop, lacking the information he needed to reach the final conclusion.

The only thing keeping him sane was his habit of circulating Mana and gaining finer control over it.

While you needed the Blessings of a God to wield magic, how far you could take it from there was entirely reliant on yourself.

The wresting of control aligned with Leonidas all too perfectly. He even took it too far at times.

'Just give me the slightest chance, the smallest of openings… And I'll be sure to grasp it.'

Right then, the screeching sound of grating metal sliding against hard stone floors echoed through the dungeon, a small measure of light finally flooding into the darkness.

Leonidas' eyes snapped open, a hidden fire still flickering within their crimson luster.

As quickly as it appeared, Leonidas allowed it to extinguish. His eagerness and impulse had landed him in this situation to begin with. He had to maintain a calmer mind this time around.

Leonidas cast Scholar's Eye, his mind being soothed by the controlled currents of Mana.

The rhythmic movement of his Mana ebbed and flowed in tides, making it feel as though his brain was being massaged by a pair of delicate, soft hands.

If another familiar with the Magic Circuit of Scholar's Eye could peer into Leonidas' body now, they would be hard-pressed to recognize the Magic Blessing at all.

Leonidas was fully expecting to hear the echo of steps, the shuffling of clothes, and the slight intake of breath as this individual made their presence known.

However, he received none of this feedback.

He began to question if he would have known that such a person entered at all if not for the flood of light that followed the creaking of the heavy metal doors.

'Benet.'

The completion of these thoughts followed the appearance of a shadowy figure.

Leonidas had thought a lot about who would come to see him first. With the way his mind worked, he had even thought about what the appearance of each of these individuals would mean and what level of danger he would be in depending.

It could be said that while Apostle Benet Rardin wasn't the worst-case scenario, he wasn't far from it either.

Benet was far more cool-headed than Apostle Maw or Apostle Milon. However, it would be foolish to say that he was less dangerous due to this.

It would be more accurate to believe him to be the opposite.

A person who could hide their intentions, and rein in their pride and emotions, was the worst kind of enemy to have.

Contrary to Leonidas' expectation, Benet didn't say a word.

The silence seemed to take on an oppressive sort of aura, one that could have easily broken a person who had spent two days in seclusion. In this sort of situation, the individual who spoke first would often start off losing by a half measure.

Fortunately, Leonidas' mental fortitude wasn't at a level Benet could fathom. As calculative as the Fighter was, he didn't understand his opponent well enough.