Mushoku Tensei: the Apostle of God

This... might be because my physique is somewhat similar to that of a school bully from my past life, which triggered Rudeus's PTSD. That makes this favor mission quite difficult to push forward... If only Rudeus were a girl... Wait, no—a thirty-four-year-old shut-in NEET uncle's inner girl... Ugh, mind-blowing.

Allen let out a quiet sigh and walked over to the study door.

The door was open, and inside, Paul was sitting with his head in his hands, seemingly deep in thought.

Allen knocked lightly on the door.

"Master Paul."

Paul looked up. The desk in front of him was scattered with a few letters.

"Oh, come in and sit down."

Allen glanced at the chair—it was placed quite far from the table where Paul was leaning. Paul then picked up a pen and looked at Allen.

"Since your background is unclear... before you can become a swordsman for our family, I need to conduct a simple investigation."

Allen raised an eyebrow, staring directly at Paul's face.

Seeing this, Paul quickly waved his hand and scratched his head, looking somewhat troubled as he glanced at the ceiling.

"Don't worry, I understand the adventurer's code. After all, I used to be one myself... This is just a very basic investigation. It's just that it involves the safety of my child, so I hope you can understand."

Allen's expression shifted, as if suddenly intrigued. He relaxed into the chair with a faint smile.

"Go ahead, ask."

"Uh... your name?"

"Allen."

Paul's hand paused for a moment, then he slowly nodded and continued.

"Is it okay to ask your age?"

Allen glanced at the pen in Paul's hand and smiled indifferently.

"Nine years and four months."

Paul blinked.

"Where do you usually operate?"

"Around the Asura Kingdom's capital."

Paul seemed to feel a dryness in his throat and swallowed hard.

"Swordsman rank?"

"My current title is Water God Style—Advanced."

Paul scratched his head with the pen, then chuckled after a while.

"Your clothes look quite worn... I assume you haven't had much income lately. When did you lose your money in the dungeon?"

Allen smiled warmly.

"Last November, Master Paul."

Paul took a deep breath and let out a relieved sigh. He looked up at Allen, his expression softening, and his tone carried a hint of familiarity.

"Alright... Allen, you can stay here for now... Let's have dinner together later. Zenith's cooking is quite good."

Allen narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Any other questions, Master Paul?"

Paul hesitated, then shook his head.

"You... no, that's all. You can go rest in your room for now, or go play with Rudeus. Although you're tall, you're only four years older than him..."

Allen stood up.

"Then I'll take my leave?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Paul's gaze seemed a bit distant. As Allen's figure reached the door and his hand touched the doorknob, Paul lowered his head and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

With a soft click, the door closed.

Paul began to write.

But before he could finish the first character, a lazy voice drifted from in front of him.

"Uncle Paul... who are you writing to?"

Paul's pupils contracted. He looked up in shock.

Allen was leaning against the closed door, quietly watching him.

A few months ago, Allen's system had suddenly notified him that his participation score in the major events of Jobless Reincarnation had increased by 2 points. At the time, Allen was puzzled.

He had just started heading to Buena Village, and the people and events he had encountered in the capital had nothing to do with the major events of the early storyline. How could his score for the early period have increased?

Now, he had found the source of the problem.

It seemed someone had "known" him for a long time.

Allen walked over to the visibly flustered Paul. When he reached the desk, he glanced curiously at the letter lying on it.

The letter was filled with neat, elegant handwriting—the kind often used by nobles. However, the paper itself looked old, as if it hadn't been written recently.

Allen narrowed his eyes and, somewhat rudely, reached out to pick up the letter.

Paul's expression changed, and he instinctively shot up to grab Allen's hand.

Just as Paul was about to seize his wrist, Allen brought his index and middle fingers together and lightly pressed them against Paul's palm, then flicked his hand away.

His fingers moved like a slippery fish, effortlessly evading Paul's grasp and sending his hand off to the side.

Paul missed and stumbled forward, collapsing onto the desk.

He could only watch as Allen picked up the letter with two fingers and held it up to his eyes, muttering softly.

"Water God Style—Secret Technique..."

Allen held the letter in front of him, his eyes scanning the contents with a serious expression.

Paul,

How have you been lately? I imagine life in the countryside with your wife is quite pleasant.

I'm writing to you today to ask for a favor.

It's about my eldest son in the capital—Allen Boreas Greyrat. You might remember him; I wrote to you when he was born.

Back then, he had just opened his eyes when James took him to the capital to raise him as his own child. This is the price one pays for losing the struggle to become the next family head.

It's a tradition in the Boreas family, meant to reduce internal conflict.

But I couldn't help myself. I once took advantage of a mayor's report to secretly visit him behind Father's back.

After all, he is the first child I, Philip Boreas Greyrat, have left in this world.

It's ironic that I don't even have the right to give him my name...

You can laugh at me for this. After all, I've often looked down on you in the past. This is fair.

Now, about Allen... Unlike me, he's exceptionally talented. Even at a young age, he's shown remarkable skill in swordsmanship.

When I saw him from afar, he was surrounded by admirers, receiving praise from James. Yet, he showed no signs of pride or timidity—just a calm, steady demeanor.

His composed yet sharp presence reminded me of Father... though not entirely. I couldn't help but wonder, is this really my child?

But one thing is certain.

He deserves to grow up surrounded by flowers and applause, not follow a failure like me and live as the son of some mayor in the Fittoa region.

Yet, when I look at him, I can't help but think... If I had won the struggle against James to become the next family head, would I be the one standing by his side now?

I envy James. He shouldn't...

...

I've rambled on for too long. Let me get to the point.

A month ago, Allen went missing on his way to the Magic University.

At least, that's the official story.

James seems to have no intention of searching for him, but I'm deeply concerned for his safety.

So, I've asked a family guard—your former teammate, Sword King Ghislaine—to investigate the place where Allen disappeared: the Red Dragon's Jaw.

But after ten days, she's found nothing.

I sense a conspiracy at play.

I wanted to ask Ghislaine to use her adventurer connections to gather information, but she apologized, saying that networking was beyond her capabilities and suggested I turn to you...

So, I'm asking you to use your old adventurer connections to help me find any trace of him.

He has sharp features, with eyebrows almost identical to Father's, and he inherited my brown hair and Hilda's gray eyes. He's quite distinctive and easy to recognize in a crowd.

If you hear anything, please let me know. If someone sees someone matching his description, please send word and ask them to keep him there until I can confirm.

Please understand that I can't openly hire people to search for him. It's not a position I can afford to take.

After all, his "father" is James.

...

I apologize for showing you my weak side.

Sincerely,

Philip.

Allen stared at the last line, where a familiar yet distant name was written, and fell into silence.

Beside him, Paul scratched his head, unsure of what to say.