Mushoku Tensei: the Apostle of God

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Allen turned his head and walked forward—only to lock eyes with someone.

Directly ahead, Sauros, dressed in vibrant attire, shot him a dissatisfied glance. The nobles conversing with him eyed Allen with open curiosity. Without breaking stride, Allen closed the distance between them.

As he passed Sauros, he glanced at the surrounding nobles and offered a flawless, time-efficient bow—so smooth it betrayed no hint of haste.

"Go change into your formal wear. This is unbecoming," Sauros muttered, sipping his red wine.

"Yes," Allen nodded.

The two brushed past each other. The nobles before Sauros stared in astonishment at Allen's retreating figure.

"My lord, who was that…?"

Sauros waved a hand dismissively and took another sip.

"A retainer."

"Oh? Has my lord gained another Sword King under his command?"

"Just a Water Saint."

"Ah, I see."

"Though, according to Ghislaine, he's apparently reached Saint-rank in Sword God style recently. Heh."

"Double Saint-rank? Even in the royal capital, such retainers are highly sought after! To have one under the young master's wing is—"

"Mediocre. He's also a Saint in North God style."

"Gasp—Congratulations, my lord!"

"Hah! Hardly worth mentioning."

Allen's eye twitched at Sauros's booming, decidedly not humble laughter—reminiscent of a top student flaunting perfect grades.

Their relationship had long since broken past formalities, now resembling grandfather and grandson. Yet neither openly acknowledged it. Both knew: the moment Allen's identity was publicly declared would mark his return to the capital. And that time was still far off.

Allen's gaze drifted toward the banquet hall in the distance. Maids bustled in and out, carrying cold dishes prepared since morning. Through the doorway, glimpses of white-clothed tables and carpeted floors flickered.

By now, Eris's tenth birthday celebration had diverged entirely from the original storyline—its scale far grander. Even the novel's description of Sauros as indifferent to nobles was upended; here, he entertained them at the entrance with visible effort.

The reason? Obvious.

Only one variable existed.

Allen shook his head, reminded anew: these characters weren't flat plot devices but living, breathing people—unlike the novel's narrow focus on a handful.

It felt… nice.

Basket in hand, he strode briskly through the courtyard, skirting the budding tree beneath Hilda's window, and entered the mansion—only to halt at Rudeus's door.

Before he could knock, Rudeus burst out, snatching the basket from his hands.

"I'll finish it before tonight! Don't worry!"

Allen scratched his head, watching Rudeus plop down at his cluttered desk. He stepped closer, surveying the chaos.

"Thanks. Really."

Rudeus didn't look up, focused on brushing something meticulously. Nearby, dyes Allen had personally purchased (unable to trouble Aria or Lilia, busy with banquet prep and Eris's styling) lay opened.

"What're you thanking me for? It's just a small favor—"

"The last version was fine already. Get some rest; you barely slept."

"Tch. You wouldn't understand craftsmanship, Lord Allen."

Allen studied the crown of Rudeus's head silently. Eventually, he sighed.

"Final version. No more revisions."

Rudeus shooed him away. "Sylphie's upstairs in Lady Hilda's room. She's been avoiding you since dawn—aren't you going?"

Allen blinked. "I checked. Didn't see her."

Rudeus turned, bloodshot eyes (proof of sleeplessness) meeting his. "Lady Hilda said she's hiding in the dressing room. Sylphie came earlier—there's a change. Our plan assumed Lady Hilda wouldn't attend, but she insists now. It doesn't affect the plan much, but her health…"

Allen was already out the door.

Rudeus smirked at his retreating back before resuming work.

———

"Ow!"

"S-Sorry, Eris!"

At the vanity in Hilda's room, Eris pouted, her flame-red dress pooling over the chair like liquid fire. Beside her, Sylphie—clad in a white gown—fumbled nervously with her hair.

The dress's soft fringe demanded an updo, so Hilda had suggested a side braid for elegance. Noticing Sylphie's struggle, Lilia gently took over, her fingers deft.

"Let me. But Miss Sylphie, you seem distracted today?"

"…Do I?"

Lilia's eyes twinkled. "Is it about Lord Allen?"

"Y—" Sylphie's voice hitched. "N-No! Not at all!"

Lilia chuckled, glancing at Sylphie's exposed collarbone in the sunlight before eyeing the necklace on the table—the "soul" of her low-cut gown.

"Of course~ But don't forget this. It'd be a shame to skip it."

Sylphie picked up the necklace, clutching it absently—

BANG.

The dressing room door flew open.

———

Allen took the stairs two at a time, brow furrowed. Within a minute, he stood before Hilda's bedroom. He exhaled, smoothing his expression into a smile, and turned the knob—

Only to freeze.

There, just inside the dressing room doorway, stood Hilda—frail but radiant in a pale-yellow gown that ended above her ankles. Her hair, usually half-loose, was pinned up elegantly. Though her cheeks were hollowed, her eyes sparkled.

She looked up at the sound, meeting his gaze for a long, long moment before offering a shy, unpracticed smile, fingers tugging at her skirt.

"Allen… This dress—it's been years. I'd planned a train, but Sylphie said this suited me better. Last time I wore it was…" Her voice faltered. "…Never mind."

"It suits you."

Hilda blinked. Something in his phrasing felt off, but the warmth in his voice drowned the thought.

"Thank you."

She turned toward the vanity, where Eris watched curiously and Sylphie fidgeted under Allen's arrival. Lilia had just finished Eris's braid.

Hilda faced Allen again, noting his unchanged attire. "Time's short. Eris is ready—you should change too. Father insists you lead her first dance. With more nobles here than in five years, the family's honor is at stake."

Her tone brooked no argument, but Allen simply nodded. He'd read her diary. Understood why she pushed herself to attend: to watch him and Eris dance before the entire nobility of Roa.

To show them all—

Her children.

———

Soon, Allen stood in the ballroom in formal wear. Brother and sister took their positions. He glanced at Hilda, who smiled back; at Sylphie, who averted her gaze; finally at Eris, grinning fiercely.

"Ready?"

"Yep!"

Allen closed his eyes.

The plan holds. Minor changes don't matter.

Then—

He reopened them.

Sunlight had morphed into chandelier glow. The quiet room now buzzed with applause. Before a crowd where Sauros cheered and Hilda stood poised beside Philip, Allen extended his hand on the crimson carpet.

The ball—

Had begun.

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