The Spike of Conviction: The World Through the Eyes of the Witch's Apostles - The Cradle of Arrogance: Beliefs Sleeping in Ruins and a Girl’s Tears - Episode 1

The wall was weeping. To be precise, water was merely seeping through the cracks in the stone. But to Gouf, it sounded like a voice—like the ancient lament of someone trapped here long ago. Calista's abandoned monastery. One hundred fifty kilometers northeast of the royal capital Lugnica, hidden in the foothills of the Elgalm mountain range, a ruin lost to time. On the second basement level, in the training grounds, a young man lay collapsed on the stone floor. Gouf looked down at him. Motionless. Unconscious. Only his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen. Still bearing the soft features of youth—a believer picked up by the organization three weeks ago, participating in live combat training for the first time today. He'd held on for the first five minutes. In the sixth, he'd faltered. That was the mistake. Gouf cracked the bones in his right hand. A dry *pop* echoed through the basement chamber. Not anger—merely instruction. Weakness was fatal. Not just within this organization, but in the world beyond. So he taught through pain. His height was one hundred seventy centimeters. His frame was slender, dressed in a white shirt and black slacks—an oddly plain appearance, almost out of place. His black short hair lay without a single strand out of order, and his deep brown eyes now gazed quietly at the fallen believer. When his mouth closed, his lower front teeth—sharp as fangs—protruded slightly beyond his lips. And there was the thin scar on his forehead. A white line, roughly twenty centimeters long. That scar still ached on rainy days. "Stand." The voice came from the depths of the earth. Low. Emotionless. The believer's eyes fluttered open, then closed again. "If you can't stand, leave. This place doesn't exist for the likes of you." "...I'll...continue." A hoarse voice. His hands pressed against the floor, his trembling arms straining to lift his body. Gouf watched in silence. He waited for the young man to rise. He did not rush him. He did not offer his hand. This was training. Seven other believers stood along the walls, watching. None spoke. Everyone here understood that sympathy for weakness, comfort for pain—these were not education. They were all picked-up strays, and all had learned somewhere: the meaning of pain. Gouf himself had learned it the same way. The fallen believer finally rose to his feet. His legs trembled. Still, he took his stance. Gouf observed him for three seconds, then gave a small nod. "That's enough for today." A single, brief statement. The tension drained from the believers' shoulders all at once. After training ended, everyone returned to the residential quarters on the first basement level. The smell of soup drifted from the dining hall. Root vegetables, salt, and some kind of meat. Far from a nobleman's table, but sufficient for Gouf. The training grounds, now empty, were silent. The soundproofing magic circles carved into the walls kept the outside world at bay. The deep silence of the underground. Gouf walked to the far corner of the room. In one section of the wall, fine characters had been carved. Ordinary believers would never notice them. Without bringing the illumination stone—a mineral formed from crystallized mana in the atmosphere, here powered by low-grade specimens—close enough, the letters were too small to read. "Doubt the world's righteousness." The words of Echidna. The Witch of Greed. A being said to have died roughly four hundred years ago. Yet her philosophy lived on in the organization through written texts and oral tradition. Half the reason Gouf was here was because of these words. He traced them with his finger. The cold sensation of stone. His finger moved along the carved lines. *(Doubt the world's righteousness, then.)* He understood. He'd been doing it all along. Kingdom Law Article Seventeen—conspiracy with the Witch's Cult is a capital offense—had existed in this nation for three hundred eighty years, and yet the organization remained. Because there were doubts about this world's so-called righteousness. But lately, a different doubt had begun to accumulate. *What is it we want to destroy?* "Gouf, sir." A low voice came from behind. He didn't need to turn to know. Ortz Balden. Forty-five years old. Former farmer. A man who had been in the organization for fifteen years and spoke only when necessary. He had been Gouf's aide for many years. "What is it?" "The Weltheim faction has called for a strategy meeting. Three days from now." Gouf turned slowly. Ortz stood in the shadow of a stone pillar. A sturdy frame. Expressionless. Only his gaze moved quietly, watching Gouf. "Where?" "The conference room on the third basement level. Three faction executives will be attending." Gouf said nothing. He turned the words *strategy meeting* over in his mind. The Weltheim faction—the radical wing within the organization. Named after its founder, Weltheim. Where the doctrine stated "destroy the world's structure," they interpreted it as "destroy human society itself." They did not hesitate to involve civilians. They justified indiscriminate terrorism. They comprised roughly forty percent of the organization's membership. A scale that could not be ignored. "Understood. I'll attend." With that, he turned his gaze back to Echidna's words. Ortz paused at the doorway, turning back once. His eyes seemed to want to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. That was typical of Ortz. Gouf continued to stare at the wall. *(We were supposed to want to destroy a rotten system.)* What meaning was there in operations that dragged in unrelated people? What changed by killing civilians? But Gouf also knew that voicing such thoughts was dangerous. Night fell. In the dining hall on the first basement level, believers ate their meals. Gouf took his portion and sat at the edge of the room. The soup was warm. The sweetness of root vegetables spread thinly across his palate. During the meal, he heard the believers' voices. He hadn't meant to listen. The words simply reached his ears. "Apparently the Weltheim faction is running the next operation." "The capital, right? That's what I heard." "They said they'd do it big. Even prepared to drag in some civilians." His spoon stopped. Gouf didn't look up. But his ears caught every word. A voice asked, "Is that okay?" A young believer's voice. Perhaps the one who had collapsed during today's training. "We hate the kingdom's system, not ordinary people." Silence. Someone answered. "Are you going against the Weltheim faction?" The conversation died. Gouf drank his soup. It had no taste. Just then, footsteps came from the direction of the medical room. Helga Valm was sixty-two years old, her white hair neatly arranged, dressed in an immaculate white coat. Gouf had heard she was once a physician at the royal palace, though he had never confirmed the story himself. Now she ran a small clinic in the Creyvan district, southwest of the capital. She treated the poor and the demi-humans without distinction. She was not a formal member of the organization. Yet as a doctor trusted even in the underworld, she was called to the base whenever injuries occurred. Gouf had once asked her why she came. "Because there are people in need," she had said. That was all. "I hear there was an injury during today's training." She said this as she met Gouf's gaze in front of the medical room. "One." "It doesn't seem serious. But I'll check to be sure." She entered the medical room. Gouf followed. He had no particular business there. He simply thought he should give a report. The treatment was simple. Checking for bruises, changing bandages. Helga's hands were quiet and efficient. The young believer seemed to relax slightly under her care. Gouf watched from the corner of the room. When the treatment was finished, the believer left. The two were alone. As Helga put away her instruments, she suddenly turned toward Gouf. "Would you let me see your face for a moment?" she said. Gouf was about to refuse. But before the words came, Helga had already drawn near. The woman, a head shorter than him, leaned in without hesitation to examine his face. Her fingers touched the scar on his forehead, gently. Cold, yet gentle fingertips. Gouf's body stiffened slightly. The sensation was somehow uncomfortable. He was not accustomed to such treatment. "This scar is old. It must have been very deep." "It was a long time ago." Gouf said. "I heard it was from a noble's labor camp." Gouf said nothing. Helga withdrew her hand. Then, after a pause, she spoke in a quiet voice. "Your wound still aches, doesn't it? Not just this one." Gouf did not answer. Helga did not seem to expect one. She said nothing more and continued putting away her instruments. A soft *clink* of metal echoed through the quiet room. Gouf left the medical room. The corridor was dark. Illumination stones were set at intervals along the walls, casting a dim glow on the stone floor. Somewhere, water dripped. *(Still aches.)* He repeated her words in his mind as he walked the corridor. He didn't even know if it ached. Only that lately something had caught in his chest. The Weltheim faction's methods. Operations involving civilians. The increasingly radical atmosphere spreading among the believers. Each time he witnessed these things, something deep in his chest grew tense. *(What was it I wanted to protect?)* Once, he had been in a labor camp. On a noble's land, used up like a consumable. Never called by name. Treated like a tool, like livestock. It was someone from the organization who had picked him up. A place the people called a "heretical cult" had been Gouf's first home. So he had fought. To destroy this world's system. To change its rotten order. Yet now, within the same organization, there were those trying to make ordinary people into tools. "Gouf, sir." Ortz's voice again. This time from around the corner of the corridor. He held a piece of parchment. His face was slightly more tense than usual. "What is it?" "A report just arrived from the southern liaison." Ortz held out the parchment. Gouf took it and let his eyes run across it. The text was brief. But its content was not. An orphan had fled to the southern outpost from the ruins of Forna Village. A girl, approximately twelve years old. There were signs of contact with associates of Subaru Natsuki. Currently, a low-level believer in the south was protecting her, and transfer to the base was being considered— Gouf's eyes left the parchment, and he stared at the corridor wall. Forna Village ruins. To the south, roughly one hundred twenty kilometers from the capital, where a village once stood. Two years ago, the kingdom's army had burned it. On suspicion of harboring demi-humans. Though the story went that it wasn't the entire village that had harbored them, only two houses—the village had been erased. Subaru Natsuki. A person involved in the royal selection, apparently in Emilia's faction. Gouf had heard that name several times before. Always accompanied by strange rumors—that he appeared repeatedly in the same scenes, impossibly. An orphan who had made contact with his associates had fled here. Gouf folded the parchment. Something moved deep in his chest. He couldn't quite put it into words. "Understood. Report when more details arrive." He said this and began walking down the corridor. Ortz followed without a word. The sound of two sets of footsteps echoed off the stone floor. *(A twelve-year-old orphan.)* A child whose village had been burned, whose parents were lost, yet who had survived and fled here. To this place. Somewhat like his former self. Gouf pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Don't move on emotion—that was the organization's principle. Whether the child was an orphan or not, anyone who had made contact with Subaru Natsuki's ass

日本語

What is Novelia? →

Episode 1

Name: The Spike of Conviction: The World Through the Eyes of the Witch's Apostles
Author: Novelia

What is Novelia?

Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.

Learn more about Novelia →New sign-ups get 5,000pt