Chapter Twelve: Shadows Beneath the Order

The heavy gates fell shut, marking the beginning of isolation from the world.

Amy set aside the dossier in his hands and used the fire striker prepared on the stone table to ignite the nearby kerosene lamp. The modest flame rose, illuminating every corner of the cramped chamber.

Feeling the warmth and light at his fingertips, a rare sense of calm washed over him—though only just. For the Dice House, famed for its meticulous digging into clients’ secrets, he dared not let his guard down. Even though the likelihood of a memory stone—a rare artifact even among the Gloried—appearing in the Lower District was slim, it never hurt to be cautious. After all, he now stood at the very heart of the storm, and could ill afford a moment’s negligence.

He sighed for the calamity that had befallen him, and quietly opened the thick dossier in his hands.

The first file bore the name “The Killer of the Foggy Night,” documenting a century-old series of murders attributed to this infamous moniker. Perhaps, among the people of the Lower District, the bloody, ruthless executioner had long become a legend capable of silencing unruly children. Yet Amy had no recollection of this name, and could only piece together, from the vague records, the outline of the notorious incident that once plunged the Lower District into terror.

Then, abruptly, the trail ended.

Like the plotline of some third-rate novelist, the clues running through the story grew increasingly prominent, all conflicts and tensions about to erupt—yet the murderer, the supposed protagonist, vanished from human sight after an ordinary sunrise, never to appear again.

—Utterly ambiguous.

Having double-checked, and confirmed that his earlier speed-reading had missed nothing important, Amy drew this conclusion. It was not enough to anger him; the Dice House’s reputation may be dubious, but it would hardly try to fool him with fake intelligence. Perhaps this file was tied to the next?

Indeed, when he opened the second dossier, the answer revealed itself.

Like the first, the second file contained no direct information about the masked killer, but pointed squarely at the mysterious force behind him—the Dark Guild, and more specifically, a secret experiment codenamed “The Killer.”

Live experiments, flesh transplantation, artificial hybrids...

The more Amy read, the more disturbed he became, staggered by the profound darkness that permeated the Lower District. Not to mention the terrifying technology these unusual experiments implied—the Dark Guild’s reckless audacity alone made him shudder.

If it were only live experiments, that would be one thing. The power brokers of the Upper District committed similar acts; if exposed, it would amount to little more than public condemnation—no Gloried would risk their own interests for some nebulous sense of justice against a formidable organization. Even Amy, who was considered relatively “clean” among the Gloried, would not blindly make enemies unless his own interests were at stake.

But when it came to flesh transplantation and artificial hybrids, the matter was far from simple.

Because—

That was forbidden.

Among the ten iron laws upheld by the Order, though it did not explicitly state that anyone transplanting demon flesh must be cleansed, the creation of hybrids was no less severe than colluding with demons. A single misstep could even give rise to a new higher demon from dead flesh, precipitating disaster over the entire city.

That alone was enough to threaten everyone's interests.

If the Order got wind of this, at least one Sword Bearer would be dispatched to investigate—and given their unfathomable methods, uncovering the truth would surely be a matter of time.

After all, no one understood the Order’s terror better than the Gloried.

That terror was bottomless.

The Order’s history in Herumtika spanned only three centuries; before that, the city knew nothing of this secretive religious force. No one knew their origin, nor realized the power behind them, until their influence reached into the Upper District, into the very hunting grounds of the Gloried...

Then, a battle not recorded by history erupted.

No one knew the outcome, or perhaps the two wary sides never truly broke with one another. At the very least, in this conflict, the Gloried confirmed that the Order came from the vast, boundless darkness, with technology far surpassing that of the present age. They developed warships capable of traversing the dark void, and granted ordinary people powers equal to—or even greater than—the Gloried.

Thus were born the Sword Bearers—and the Great Sword Bearers.

—Not a defeat, yet more bitter than defeat.

For the first time, the exalted Gloried tasted humiliation.

And that shame endured, with no chance for redemption even a century later—the Order’s Supreme Tower still stood at the center of the Upper District. Though they never expanded further, and even contracted their influence, abandoning all districts set up in the Lower District, the number of Sword Bearers only increased, and the resident Great Sword Bearers grew from one to three. Such power could not but alarm the Gloried.

Yes—alarm.

This force was enough to overturn the Gloried’s rule, enough to threaten the very existence of Herumtika.

Let alone... the “Ark” roaming the dark zones.

All matters concerning the Order were shrouded in thick mystery; the only certainty was their strength beyond mortal imagination, and their absolute hatred of the dark chaos.

So, this time the coalition of interests under the banner of darkness had undoubtedly run afoul of a formidable foe.

Perhaps the people of the Lower District were limited by what they knew, or intimidated by the Dark Guild, or simply unfamiliar with the Order. Maybe, too, they were all complicit in their own ways, and so no one exposed the truth. But Amy had no such qualms; as a victim, he held not the slightest goodwill toward the Dark Guild and its bred killers. To sweep them away with the Order’s aid, swiftly and efficiently, would be ideal.

With this unexpected assistance, Amy turned the last page of the second dossier with genuine delight, then opened the third and final file. Interestingly, its title differed from the first only in order: one was “Foggy Night Killer,” the other “Killer of the Foggy Night.” The subtle distinction suggested a connection, and considering the second file’s mention of “The Killer”...

Amy narrowed his eyes, saying nothing, only leafing through the pages.

As expected, the third file recorded the very assassin he encountered last night—the one wearing the mask, half-smiling, half-weeping... or perhaps, the killer. Yet the information of real value was scant: fragments from witnesses, traces left at the scene. To someone who had faced and repelled the attacker, it served only to verify his own experience.

Had this been at the outset, Amy might have been discouraged by such meager results. But now...

He had a way to bring the Order’s Sword Bearer down from the Supreme Tower. Once the Order intervened, the Dark Guild and its killers would scarcely have the energy to trouble him further.

Thinking this, a smile curved Amy’s lips.

—A master stroke, indeed.

If the Lower District, with its competing powers, was a great whirlpool devouring all, then the Order, high above, was a mountain whose boundaries could not be glimpsed. To drag it into the water would not merely muddy the currents; its overwhelming force could crush the entire whirlpool and send the sea into upheaval. Even if only a single Sword Bearer were dispatched as an investigator, the symbolic significance would be enough to draw the attention of all plotting factions, scattering their carefully laid chess pieces and boards with the sudden impact of an outsider’s apple.

Then, whether to advance or retreat, he would have options.

With this thought, Amy rose.

Since he had obtained the information, there was no reason to linger.

So resolved, he pushed open the heavy door, returned the three borrowed dossiers to the attendant waiting outside, and, after the inspection, left the Dice House as silently as he had entered, dissolving into the surging crowd like a grain of sand in the vast sea.

Using the throng and the complex streets nearby, he threw off those trailing him. Step by step, he removed his cap and large mask, and in a deserted corner, discarded his thick coat into a trash heap. Dressed now in plain clothes, he rejoined the crowd with ease. After repeatedly confirming there was no suspicious follower, he chose his route home, as carefree as if on a stroll.

—Next, he must head to the Upper District.

—Then, to the Supreme Tower.

“Yulia...”

He whispered the girl’s name. Though he yearned to escape the storm, for a moment, he could not help but feel a surge of emotion.

But before he could give voice to his troubled heart, a sudden knock roused him. Hastily composing himself, he opened the heavy door and looked up at his unexpected visitor.

Tall, thin... Paul’s attendant.

He recognized the visitor at once, and Amy frowned slightly. Though he was acquainted with Simon, they rarely interacted. Besides, after Paul’s death, Simon’s days could not have been easy. Amy could think of no reason for him to call so abruptly, save for... the death of the giant, Paul.

A true uninvited guest.

That thought flashed through his mind, his gaze inadvertently passing over a massive shadow not far away. The indifferent smile on his face froze in an instant.

—Time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat.

“No... way...”

With a trembling voice, words he ought not to say escaped his lips.