Mushoku Tensei: the Apostle of God

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The distant mountains swallowed the last traces of twilight.

Allen stepped out of the tower.

In that liminal space between day and night, a faint, stubborn light still lingered in the air, dyeing the ink-dark earth with a thin blue halo.

He glanced toward the Boreas estate's main gate.

A white line—a carriage's path—faded into the cobblestones, its tracks erased by the turning wheels that crushed the remnants of daylight.

Allen blinked and looked up.

Night had fallen.

The massive teleportation mana sphere in the sky flickered once in his vision before vanishing into the dark.

His gaze slid to the tower beside him, its silhouette abruptly severed from view after just two meters, as if the night itself had cleaved it.

Yet, a voice echoed in his mind, following his line of sight to that severed edge:

'The continuation of Boreas?'

'You, who clung to that ideal so fiercely in the last loop, died for it. And this time…'

'What will the outcome be?'

Allen narrowed his eyes at the tower's base, where faint water stains were nearly invisible in the darkness.

Then, suddenly, he smiled.

'Sauros, isn't continuing the family your responsibility? Surely you'd handle it better.'

Footsteps approached from behind, swift against the quiet of evening. His Flow Sense had already tracked their owner, so he stepped aside without turning—just in time to avoid the swish of a passing cat tail.

Lil passed him, her scent—musky, like dusk itself—lingering in the air. She bowed slightly in greeting and reached for the tower's iron door, then paused.

Her deep brown hair, turned black by the night, swayed as she turned to face him. Cat ears twitched atop her head.

"Young Master Allen, are you leaving Boreas soon?"

Allen had been about to return to the classroom for Lady Hilda's etiquette lesson, but her question froze him mid-step.

"Yes. Please take care of my mother in my absence."

Lil covered her mouth with a giggle, though her eyes betrayed surprise.

"Of course—that's my duty. But… didn't you come to ask the master to take Lady Hilda with you? If you made the request, he might actually listen."

Allen studied her, impressed anew by this favored concubine's grasp of Boreas' inner workings.

"The journey would be rough, and the capital is… noisy. It's not the right time yet."

Lil blinked, then stepped closer, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

"What a shame."

She stood only shoulder-height to him. Her tail swayed as her feline gaze clung to his face.

Her next words nearly made him choke.

"And here Aria failed to sneak into your bed even once before you left. How useless of her."

Allen's lips twitched. He'd long since grown weary of Lil's blatant attempts to curry favor. But then she leaned in further, her perfume and musk flooding his senses. He instinctively leaned back.

"Though it seems I misjudged…"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing it against the modest curve of her maid uniform's bodice. A teasing smile played on her lips.

"You don't prefer petite girls—it's just that Sylphiette happens to be petite. Isn't that right?"

Allen stiffened. "What?"

Lil's tongue clicked sweetly against her teeth as she whispered:

"If someone like me interests you… Tonight? No, you're probably busy. Tomorrow, then. Or the night before you leave. My offer stands. Bring Aria too, if you'd like. This isn't the master's or Young Master Philip's order—just my own idea~"

"Do consider it. If you leave like this, Aria and I might cry if you never return."

"..."

With a final laugh, she slipped into the tower, the iron door clanging shut behind her.

Allen stood frozen for a full three seconds before massaging his temples. The memory of his first night at Boreas resurfaced—the lineup of maids in "special" uniforms, waiting for his "selection."

What kind of logic is this? Since when do people 'analyze' my preferences?

Shaking his head, he turned toward the manor.

"If Boreas is already this bad… the capital will be worse."

A pause.

"…It will be worse."

His footsteps faded with his muttering.

"If things go smoothly… after the capital… I'll see Kishirika…"

"…Definitely…"

"…The studious type…"

Classroom – Boreas Estate

"What's today's lesson? Did Lady Hilda leave instructions for you, Lady Sylphiette Boreas Greyrat?"

"…R-Rudy, if you keep that up, I'll freeze your mouth shut."

"Oh? You'd have done it already if you meant it. Admit it—you're enjoying this. Wait—!"

Crack! The sound of shattering ice echoed by the window.

"C-Calm down, Sylphie!"

Sylphiette watched as Rudeus effortlessly deflected her icicle with a gust of wind. He'd retreated to the corner of the room, poised for battle. She took a deep breath and glanced across the table.

The person seated there wasn't Allen.

Eris, her crimson hair pooling like spilled paint across the desk, rested her chin on one hand.

Silent. Still. Uncharacteristically serene.

For once, she looked every bit the noble lady.

Her expression?

…Peaceful. Very peaceful.

Sylphiette exhaled in relief, then frowned at the sleeping girl.

Eris had been ecstatic after mastering the Silent Sword Saint technique yesterday. Unlike Rudeus—who'd returned from Fittoa pale-faced and gone straight to bed—the sea of corpses at Wyrinn hadn't seemed to faze her.

Proof? She'd immediately demonstrated her new skill, her strikes growing sharper with each silent slash. The more she focused, the more her mind emptied—until even her memories of the day's horrors scattered like leaves in the wind.

She'd collapsed before etiquette lessons even began, too exhausted to continue.

Today, warned by Ghislaine during sword training, she'd barely managed to stay awake. She'd sat stiffly at first, fighting to keep her eyes open…

…until, unconsciously mirroring Allen's posture, she'd found a "pillow" in her own arms.

And then?

Out cold.

Sylphiette bit her lip. Lessons would start soon. She'd debated waking Eris—the girl did look pitiful—but Lady Hilda's arrival was imminent.

Even her earlier icicle, though partly born of embarrassment, had also been a poorly disguised attempt to startle Eris awake.

Result?

Frozen failure.

She shot Ghislaine a pleading look.

The Sword King pretended not to notice, muttering into her notebook instead:

"Start with soup at banquets… fish broth is best… napkin tucked into collar before eating… but I don't have a collar… where to tuck…?"

Sylphiette's gaze dropped to Ghislaine's leather-bound chest.

…No. Just no.

She turned next to Rudeus, eyes narrowing in threat. The boy recoiled, his face screaming, "Wake Eris? ME?!" before scrambling backward.

Defeated, Sylphiette looked at Allen—still lost in thought, chin propped on one hand as he absently doodled circles on paper.

She hesitated, then made her decision.

Bracing one foot on her chair, she rose, her white skirt pooling like liquid over the desk's edge as she crawled forward.

She stopped inches from Eris's face, cupped her hands, and whispered:

"Eris… wake up… Lady Hilda's almost here…"

Eris: Zzz…

Sylphiette: "…"

Brow furrowed, she leaned closer, until her lips nearly brushed Eris's ear—

—then jerked back, eyes wide.

Her sudden movement slammed her forehead into Eris's skull.

THUD!

"I'M AWAKE!!" Eris shot upright, roaring.

Every head turned—except Allen's.

Then, in unison, Rudeus, Ghislaine, and even Eris herself froze.

Their eyes locked onto the figure still sprawled across the table.

Sylphiette's ears burned crimson. One hand clutched her throbbing forehead; the other braced against the desk.

She was petrified.

The straps of her dress bit into her shoulders, leaving faint red lines.

The fitted waist hugged her sides, the fabric crumpling where it met the wood.

The skirt's hem fanned around her like frosted lace, half-on, half-off the table.

And beneath the raised edge—where the fabric had ridden up—

—a hand pressed firmly against the back of her thigh, pinning the dress in place.

Whose hand?

Allen's.

At some point, he'd moved it from his chin to Sylphiette's skirt, his eyes never leaving his scribbled notes.

"Any further," he said mildly, "and you'd have flashed everyone."

The words snapped Sylphiette back to reality. Trembling, she slid off the table. As her feet touched the ground, Allen withdrew his hand and resumed his brooding pose, as if nothing had happened.

Sylphiette sat ramrod straight, hands clamped over her knees, staring at the wood grain as if it held the secrets of the universe. Her pulse raced loud enough to echo.

The memory of his palm against her skin sent heat crawling up her neck.

Rudeus grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Nice move," his expression said.

Eris, though slow to grasp subtleties, understood this well enough. Her cheeks pinked as she glanced between the two, now fully awake.

Ghislaine, utterly unfazed by teenage drama, returned to her notes.

Silence settled, broken only by her murmurs and Allen's scratching pen.

Allen kept his eyes on the paper. He had been distracted—lost in thought—when his Flow Sense registered Sylphiette's near-tumble onto the table. The realization that she was wearing a skirt had triggered an automatic response.

But now? Best to move on. Any comment would only fluster her further.

Especially in front of others.

His lips quirked as he resumed doodling, his mind returning to earlier calculations:

'My objective with Sauros is complete. Taking Eris won't be an issue. Next step: inform the group about the move to the capital.'

'However…'

'The capital's four military factions…'

'The king's elite forces hold absolute control. I knew about the knights, but the others too…?'

His frown deepened.

'Pilemon knew this and still overreached? Ambition outpacing competence… Typical. He and Paul really are brothers—one gambles on politics, the other on bedding maids.'

Footsteps echoed in the hall—two sets. One heavy (polished noble boots), the other lighter (mid-heeled shoes).

His Flow Sense identified them instantly:

Philip and Hilda.

His grip on the pen tightened.

'Why is Philip here? Does he plan to "talk" like Sauros did? In front of everyone—?'

The door swung open before he could finish the thought.

Rudeus, Eris, Ghislaine, and Sylphiette all turned.

Philip stood framed in the doorway, smiling. His gaze locked onto Allen, who'd just set down his pen.

Behind him, Hilda hesitated. Unlike her usual cheerful demeanor, she seemed… unsettled. Her eyes darted from Allen to Sylphiette, lingering oddly on the latter.

Allen met Philip's stare briefly before shifting to Hilda—

—then froze.

His Flow Sense delivered a new input:

Three heartbeats.

The fastest and slowest overlapped, both emanating from Philip's position.

Allen's head snapped back toward him, eyes widening.

And then—

—as if sensing his notice, the third heartbeat's owner stopped hiding.

A figure peeked out from behind Philip.

Dark eyes, gentle yet stubborn, met Allen's.

For the first time in three years and five months, they saw each other clearly.

Flow Sense brushed against Flow Sense.

Then, from the capital, she smiled.

Her hair—black as forged steel, with faint blue highlights like twilight's last glow—swayed as she tilted her head.

The warmth in her gaze was undercut by quiet tenacity.

At last, her eyes crinkled into crescent moons.

"Senior Brother."

"It's been a while."

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