Mushoku Tensei: the Apostle of God

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===Wade was an old-school gentleman.

Unlike young men who loved to brag about killing, he never spoke of violence.

Because he understood—humans were strange creatures. What they boasted about most was often what they lacked.

These young men around him, shouting "Kill! Kill! Kill!"—how many lives had they actually taken?

Two? Five? Ten?

Even tonight, the number wouldn't rise much.

They craved the dominance, power, and control that came with slaughter—but when it came time to wield the blade, their selfish desires slowed their hands.

Admiration is the furthest thing from understanding.

These youths lacked the capacity to truly embrace killing, to walk alongside it as a companion.

Because those who truly loved slaughter never shouted about it.

Nor did they let lust dull their blades.

A burst of raucous laughter erupted beside him.

"Hah! Fine, you win! Your mom's yours!"

"Fuck you! The redhead's mine!"

"Hey, Lizard, save some for me!"

"What about the white-haired one?"

"The white-haired bitch is MINE!"

Wade listened to the bandits' vulgar chatter—words he'd deliberately allowed—and smiled as he polished his sword.

Time had carved deep lines into his face, but his hands remained steady, tender even, as they caressed the blade like a lover.

His mind wandered to the past.

In his youth, he'd trained at the North God style's main dojo. A noble of the King Dragon Kingdom, he'd once been as hot-blooded as these boys.

So when had that fire cooled? When had he gone from noble to a wandering killer in the lawless lands?

Ah, he remembered.

A youthful rivalry over a woman. A misunderstanding that ended with her carving a scar across his face.

After that, his passion didn't vanish—it simply shifted.

Especially after that night, post his ascension to North King, when he slaughtered two noble houses—1,649 lives—and finally pressed his lips to that beautiful woman's.

Only then did he feel reborn.

Killing… could be so euphoric.

Even now, her face—preserved in ice at one of his hideouts—remained exquisite despite the damage.

Truly remarkable.

Lately, though, work in the lawless lands had dried up. New players had entered the scene.

But Asura's nobles? They were rich. And their dirty secrets? Endless.

Perfect.

Why demand both wealth and flesh?

Begging whimpers, muffled groans, desperate cries—these were mere seasonings to the main course of slaughter.

Unnecessary, but…

As a former noble, Wade preferred them.

So he'd come.

A rushed decision, yet perfectly timed.

The Night Lions' offer—1,000 gold coins, backed by an Asuran noble—was too good to refuse.

Even better? Another North King was involved.

But Wade had no intention of sharing.

With a few well-placed words, he'd stirred these brats into acting tonight.

Why split the gold? After the job, he'd kill them all—impure fools who didn't understand slaughter.

If he'd teamed up with the other North King, things would've been messier. Same school, same master (North God II), same underworld ties—too awkward to betray outright.

Besides, he hated the new North God factions. These "Unorthodox" brats relied too much on tricks, neglecting sword fundamentals.

Unorthodox's core was adaptability and judgment—not cheap gimmicks!

Only Oberl stood out—clever, yes, but still grounded in basics. Rumor said he'd recently become a North Emperor?

A prodigy.

Hah. Prodigies.

That mustached lackey, Sarkov, had called their target a "genius" too. Hence the caution.

Genius? Wade had heard that word too many times.

He was a genius.

He'd killed countless geniuses.

Even North God II had once praised some Asuran boy as "gifted."

So what?

Dead geniuses were just spices to enhance the kill.

Wade paused, studying his immaculate blade. Candlelight danced along its edge, casting playful shadows over his relaxed smile.

Yet he remained cautious.

Two details stood out in the reports:

The boy knew Light Reversal.

He possessed Water God sensory techniques.

If he was just a Sword Saint, tonight would be easy. Light Reversal? Meaningless. Sensory skills? Could they sense death?

But if he was a Sword King…

Then things would get interesting.

If so, that "genius"—with Light Reversal and sharp senses—would've already killed Sarkov.

And now…

He might be right outside.

"I want the black-haired one. Looks mature—way better than your scrawny picks."

"Tch. Won't fetch a good price."

"Who said I'm selling? I'm keeping her!"

Wade smiled.

Yes, boys. Keep shouting.

The louder, the better.

Creak.

A sound—drowned by the noise—reached Wade's ears.

His hand closed around his sword's hilt as he turned.

In that instant, the world slowed.

His heightened focus sharpened his vision—he could count the door handle's grooves.

The bandits' crude cheers faded.

Only the drawn-out "Creeeaaak" remained.

In slow motion, the door opened—

The "drunkard" scout stumbled in.

A bandit near the door frowned, reaching to shove him—

Flick.

A silver thread flashed from the scout's neck—

—and pierced the bandit's throat, silencing him mid-curse.

Then, a footstep.

A young man stepped inside, his gaze slicing through the room—

—and locking onto Wade.

Behind him, the two corpses toppled like puppets with cut strings.

His hand rested on his sheathed sword.

Light Reversal. One of its three stances—the Iaido draw, perfect for masking intent.

Right on cue.

But—

This was all part of the plan.

Wade's grin widened. His blade was already poised to strike.

"Genius"? Let's see you choose:

Option 1: Charge me and expose your back to the bandits.

Option 2: Play the hero—kill the bandits first, lest they go after your women while we fight.

Your move.

In that frozen moment, the intruder's eyes flicked past Wade—

—then blurred into motion.

A streak of light—

—and he was among the bandits, sword already descending!

MISTAKE!

Wade exploded forward, his blade a silver arc aimed at the boy's unprotected side!

Light Reversal's weakness? Each strike demands full commitment—leaving gaps between slashes!

These brats might miss your movements, but I—WADE—AM A NORTH KING!

Yet—

In that split second—

He saw the boy's eyes shift—

—and smile.

Why?!

His sword was still mid-swing! The boy should be bisected!

Then—

The background… twisted.

Floating things filled Wade's vision:

Ears. Skulls. Arms. Wrists. Legs.

Guts. Organs. Bones. Eyes. Spines.

Suspended. Shattered. Drifting. Colliding.

Then—

BOOM.

A shockwave erupted, shredding tables! Chunks of flesh rocketed outward, blood geysering in all directions!

The floor splintered beneath Allen's feet as he yanked Wade mid-air—

—and slammed him down, throttling his throat!

His sword flashed upward—

"LIGHT REVERSAL: RISING MOON."

SCREEEECH—

Blades scraped, sparks flying between them!

Wade barely blocked—steel grinding against his neck—as Allen leaned into the pressure, blood gushing from his own waist!

But—

The flow… stopped.

Wade's eyes widened.

The wound… healed.

Allen's grin split his face.

"You looked so confident! So sure of my moves! Well?!"

"WHO'S THE BAIT NOW?!"

"GRAAAH—!" Wade couldn't speak—only roar as the blade dug deeper!

How was this possible?! The boy was talking while overpowering him! That first strike—it hadn't landed! The wind had deflected it! And that healing—

"DRAGON SAINT—AURA!"

Allen's snarl cut through the chaos!

Wade felt the blade bite—

"N-NO—!"

Squelch. Flesh parted.

Gurgle. Arteries wept.

Crack. Vertebrae screamed.

Shink.

A sawing motion.

A hopeless struggle.

A one-sided slaughter.

The grip on his throat vanished.

Thud.

His headless body collapsed, blood fountaining onto the ceiling—

—painting the wood in crimson.

Allen stood, wiping his blade.

Wade's head rolled at his feet.

The "game" of swords was over.

Winner: Allen.

How?

The deflection? Stone God aura, layered with Flow techniques.

The healing? A Dragon Saint core, engraved with recovery magic.

The strength? Dragon Saint aura—superior in quality.

Who underestimated whom?

Who used intel as a weapon?

Who out-North God-ed a North King?

Fishing required bait.

And power as the hook.

His last North King kill? Two Saints picked off separately—hardly a true duel.

But this?

The God's Voice echoed, delivering its verdict:

[Persuasion. Deception. Luring the North King into his own trap.]

[Entering the fray as bait, guiding Wade to swallow the hook.]

[A flawless display of Unorthodox doctrine—all your skills are tools.]

[North God Style—Rank Up.]

[North God Style—Unorthodox Branch: King Tier.]

[Evaluation:]

[Total. Domination.]

Deeper into the night.

In the inn, someone opened their eyes.

Black pupils gleamed in the dark.

Isolte.

Awake.

"…Blood?"

===

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