Chapter 101: The Traveler's Resolve

Amy Ulysses was dead.

Simply, without any warning, dead—the aged traveler raised an eyebrow. Even someone as experienced and well-traveled as he was could not help but be enveloped by an overwhelming sense of astonishment and absurdity at the moment he confirmed the young man's death.

How could he, how could he so easily end his own life?

Death.

In truth, for the Glorious Ones, especially elderly Glorious Ones nearing the end of their lives, death was not something to be feared all that much. In order to achieve the ideals and convictions in their hearts, let alone a life as fragile as a candle flickering in the wind, even tens of thousands of innocents could be sacrificed—they would dirty their hands, harden their hearts, and cast them all as chips in a desperate gamble with fate, shoving them before the dealer and awaiting the final judgment.

But not fearing the arrival of death did not mean not clinging to the beauty of life.

Because living was, in itself, the premise of all possibilities, the greatest miracle the world had ever permitted.

And yet the young man named Amy Ulysses had died here, silently, defying all reason. Though no wound could be found on his body, within that frame which lay as limp and pliable as a ragdoll, aside from a trace of lingering warmth, no remnant of life signs could be found.

He was dead.

He had ended his life completely and utterly without meaning.

"Foolish."

After a long silence, cold words slipped from the old man's lips—but even so, he had to admit that the strike the young man had delivered at the cost of his own life had truly pierced his weak spot, stabbed into his very heart.

Ulysses could not die.

As the last bloodline of the Watchers to survive in the world, their existence could be said to be an indispensable cornerstone for maintaining the stability of the ordered world. Before humanity was ready to welcome the darkness and chaos of the Deep Night, they were absolutely not permitted to die. Once the bloodline of the Watchers perished, the Code of Hammurabi that framed destiny would lose all effect entirely. Like the horn symbolizing the end times, blown by the winged folk in the myths of the Order, the kingdom that fell upon the earth would surely be destroyed, and the world would surely perish.

After all, order was nothing but a gilded illusion; only chaos endured through the ages.

But—

Ignati sighed. He was, after all, a child of order; he did, after all, love this world so riddled with wounds. Throughout his long journey through life, he had seen a young beggar use the sole piece of black bread in his hands to feed an infant he did not know, an infant destined to die; had seen a starving, sallow-faced mother during a famine quietly slice flesh from her own thigh before the stove to prepare a rare meat broth for her wailing children; had seen an old man with frost-white temples in the mountain city leave behind his not-so-warm yet loving family to lighten the burden of survival, wandering alone through the snow-white wilderness, hunting one unsuccessful hunt after another...

Even having witnessed all the changes of the world, he still could not forget the stirring in his heart.

Perhaps this was human nature.

It was also proof that he was still human.

He sighed once more. The traveler who had once crossed the Deep Night no longer harbored any hesitation in his heart—perhaps this decision could hardly be called rational, perhaps it might very well cause all previous efforts to come to naught, and might even incur the wrath of Pandora, the one who stood at the very pinnacle of the entire ordered world, the strongest of this age whom even the Chosen Ones of the Knight Orders could not contend with. But speaking for himself, he had no regrets.

Whether it was breaking down the barriers between the Lower District and the Mist District, or risking his life to involve himself in the chaos of the Upper District, the old man—whose body had already degenerated into a half-human, half-demon monster under the erosion of the Deep Night—had always loved this world woven from lies and shrouded in the gloomy clouds of despair, deeply and sincerely.

Now, it seemed... the time had come when a choice had to be made.

With such thoughts, Ignati deactivated his ability. As a traveler who had excavated his bloodline to the utmost, in countless battles his mastery over supernatural power was so fine as to be beyond reproach. With but a thought, the crimson threads that served as bindings slipped off the young man's body like living things, then gathered together, advancing in a winding, snake-like manner, climbing up the old man's leg along his trousers, surging toward the ghastly wound in his left chest, then solidifying, then scarring, then... leaving nothing behind.

And from beginning to end, the old man's expression was perfectly calm.

After all, this was his ability—the one that had accompanied him through ninety-seven years of life, the one that had saved his life countless times.

Blood Manipulation.

It was not really a bizarre or powerful ability. It was just that... in the endless battles, Ignati had long since pushed his bloodline to its limits. Not only could he freely manipulate the blood within his body to shape it, he could also grant it various properties at critical moments—such as hardness, such as toughness, such as coagulation. As long as it was a property he could perceive, could understand, he could reproduce it through his blood.

The battle with Amy Ulysses earlier had been conducted mostly in the spirit of instruction. Although that young man, who dared to place his life on the roulette wheel, had given him quite a few surprises, even truly exploiting his carelessness to nearly kill this aged, decrepit body, unfortunately, the gap in strength truly existed. Without even forcing him to reveal the tip of the iceberg of his ability, victory and defeat, life and death, had already been decided.

It was just somewhat regrettable. Based solely on the aptitude the young man had displayed moments ago, he was fully qualified to participate in the selection for the Knight Orders, with no small chance of earning the title of Knight there.

But... in the end, he was dead.

And the dead held no value.

With one final glance at the corpse on the ground slowly losing its warmth, Ignati looked away. Rather than grieving and regretting the young man's death, he had more important matters to attend to.

That was... to reunite with his other half.

After all—

Hemtica was no border town. As one of the oldest cities in the territories of order, its depths must be unimaginably profound. And as the strongest among the Dark Ministers, Pandora—who had once single-handedly reduced an entire city to ruins—was undoubtedly an existence beyond all norms. If he did not face her at his absolute peak, he feared he would have no room to resist at all before a monster of that caliber.

No, even if he returned to his peak, perhaps it would be the same.

The old man's gaze dimmed slightly, but the determination within it did not fade in the slightest.

Ulysses' importance to the entire ordered world was self-evident. Once the last bloodline of the Watchers was severed, in accordance with the sacred code laid down by Hammurabi, the spark of order would be extinguished completely, the whole world would be shrouded in the Deep Night, and all things would sound their destined final movement.

So, no matter what, Ulysses could not die.

For this, even the plan he had spent the last thirty years of his life devising could be abandoned. For this, even facing the threat of the Dark Ministers was worth it—this was no exaggeration. He had ample reason to suspect that the highly honored Calamity Maiden Pandora had deigned to visit Hemtica precisely to sever Ulysses' bloodline—because only a name inscribed upon the Slate of Destiny could draw the gaze of one who so subtly towered above the Chosen Ones.

Yulia, Yulia Ulysses would be in great danger.

It was precisely because the old man was certain of this that he had stopped the young man from going to the Upper District to rescue his sister—and the other reason he had chosen to give up on the blind girl was that... from the perspective of propagating offspring, women were naturally at a disadvantage compared to men, a truth especially pronounced among the Glorious Descendants with their low fertility.

But now, Ignati had no room to choose. He had to do everything in his power to preserve the last bloodline of Ulysses. He no longer had any path of retreat. Even if the road ahead was an endless thicket of thorns, even if it was an insurmountable cliff, all he could do was press forward.

Without moving forward, there was no direction; without moving forward, there was no way out. There were no overly profound reasons or excuses; the only thing the old man could use to convince himself was this simple and plain truth.

And then, the traveler who had once crossed the darkness took his first step after thirty years.

At the same time, the body on the ground, slowly losing its warmth, curled its fingers slightly.

The young man... opened his eyes.

Not far away, the old man's steps could not help but falter.