Chapter Two: The Death of Paul the Giant

The giant Paul was dead.

It was Willie, the information broker, who brought the news. When the young man pushed open the door, he found this uninvited guest waiting—before he could even invite the middle-aged man dressed as an old-fashioned gentleman in black coat and hat to sit, the familiar broker spilled the astonishing news that was bound to send shockwaves through the district.

Hearing this so abruptly, Amy’s black eyes filled with disbelief in an instant. Though his composure did not quite desert him, the slight trembling of his rigid form and the vacant look on his face betrayed his true thoughts—only after a long pause did he finally catch his breath, rub his brow, and gesture for Willie to enter. Once they were seated, he managed to gather himself, speaking as calmly as possible: “Though I know you’re a professional, I’ll still need further confirmation of this.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” the broker shrugged, tugging down the brim of his tall hat, his voice low and magnetic. “He was found dead in his own villa, his throat neatly slit—and there wasn’t even a trace of struggle at the scene.”

“Your source?” Amy’s gaze was steady and unreadable.

“Many sources. Someone is deliberately spreading this news.” The smooth-talking broker raised an eyebrow. “But I can assure you, it’s not a falsehood—someone is fanning the flames behind the scenes.”

“That must have cost you quite a bit,” Amy smiled wryly, spreading his hands. “Only a newcomer like me would pay you for information everyone already knows.”

“You’re mistaken,” Willie shook his head. “I didn’t come to you for such vulgar motives. Compared to common coin, what I value is your friendship.”

“So my friendship is worth that much? Perhaps I should make a living selling it,” Amy replied half in jest, then let the smile fade from his face. “Mr. Willie, the death of Giant Paul is hardly timely or relevant enough to be worth my coin.”

“And that’s why I brought you another piece of news,” the broker replied, gazing unhurried into Amy’s eyes, as fathomless as the night sky. “Yesterday, His Majesty was furious—so furious he tore up three masterpieces from the Age of Kings before he could calm himself.”

His Majesty referred to Michelangelo, the emperor of the lower district, a true lover of the arts. His collection from the Age of Kings was famed for both quantity and quality, enough to eclipse most nobles of Hemtica city. The value of the paintings he destroyed rivaled the lifetime hoard of any upper-district magnate—a measure of the rage that must have consumed him.

“This news,” Amy tapped the table with his knuckles, “has little to do with me, does it?”

“As long as you remain in the lower district, you can’t escape the maelstrom,” Willie smiled faintly. “Though you bear a noble name and lineage, free to come and go in the upper city, it seems you have no other path before you.”

“Looks like I picked the right man,” Amy replied, though he frowned openly. “You truly are an excellent information broker.”

“To know a client’s preferences is essential for any good broker,” Willie responded, ignoring the subtle challenge in Amy’s words. “Thank you for the compliment. I only do what I can.”

“This news is worth a single gold Torl,” Amy said, holding up one finger.

“That’s not quite what I expected,” the broker replied with the haggling instinct of his trade. “You must know how rare news of His Majesty is.”

“Sorry, I don’t,” Amy cut him off bluntly. “What I do know is, your information is not what I need—I require something more direct, more closely tied to me.”

“I understand…” After a brief silence, Willie looked up, emerald eyes reflecting the youth’s still unripe figure. “Forgive my boldness—are you truly only sixteen?”

“Genuine,” Amy replied.

“Very well—” Willie nodded. “To make our trade fairer, I’ll sell you one more piece of news, something you’ll find truly compelling.”

“You must want quite a bit,” Amy frowned.

“The friendship of a Glorious One is unique in the lower district,” Willie replied smoothly, sidestepping the question. “Who minds a small loss in making friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What do you want?” Amy pressed.

“Your friendship—” Willie paused, then added, “and the Fire Sigil Amulet.”

“The Fire Sigil Amulet…” Amy mused for a moment before replying. “It seems we’ll be working together for some time yet.”

“I’m most grateful,” Willie bowed slightly. “In that time, I’ll serve you as best I can.”

“I hope so,” the youth responded ambiguously.

“Your trust will be rewarded,” Willie said directly, wasting no more words as he moved to the heart of the matter. “The West District needs a new administrator—someone to take Giant Paul’s place and keep the restless factions in check…”

“And?” Amy was clearly interested.

“A remarkable figure has arrived,” Willie said, voice dramatic.

“If that’s all you have, it’s not worth even a silver Torl,” Amy frowned.

“You’re a shrewd and demanding employer,” Willie replied, his expression sobering. “But my news isn’t so shallow—I know who the new administrator is.”

He looked straight into Amy’s eyes.

“Who?” Amy made no effort to hide his interest.

“The Mask,” Willie’s voice dropped lower. “The Mask from the Mist District.”

“The Mist District—sounds ominous,” Amy’s face remained calm. “But I’ve never heard of such a person.”

“Though Giant Paul was famed as His Majesty’s right hand, it was only because he chose the right master early on. What truly made Michelangelo the emperor was the Mask from the Mist District.” At this, the broker shook his head, staring out the window before continuing, “The Mask is a solitary figure, his origins a mystery. He always wears a mask, but there’s no doubt it was his arrival that allowed Michelangelo to sweep away his enemies and claim the lower district as his fief.”

“The Mist District… What connection does he have to the demons?” Amy asked.

“That’s the heart of the matter—the Mist District isn’t home to humans,” Willie answered, “at least not pure humans.”

“Demonization,” Amy said, cutting to the point.

“To be precise, half-demonization. Fully demonized humans—if you can still call them humans—can hardly act under the influence of the Flame,” Willie corrected him. “But for you, that’s good news. Unlike that fool Paul, he at least understands what Glorious Ones are.”

“Let’s hope,” Amy nodded.

“It’s getting late, so I won’t keep you.” With nothing left to say, Willie made to leave, then paused at the door. “One last piece of advice, free of charge—there will likely be a major purge in the next couple of days. Best not to go out at night.”

The Glorious One of the lower district did not reply, only watched the broker’s departure in silence.

“He’s not someone to be trusted, but at least this time he brought useful news.”

Only when Willie’s figure had disappeared did Amy relax his stiff expression. This self-styled information broker was no simple character—everything about him was shrouded in mystery. Amy still didn’t know whether “Willie” was a real name or an alias, or even if the man was truly a broker at all—the only thing certain was that this man wanted something from him.

What exactly that was, Amy couldn’t yet tell, but it was surely not the Fire Sigil Amulet. While the amulet, which could ward off chaos to some degree, was considered a treasure by many, it was a common enough item traded on the open market. For someone capable of trading in news about Michelangelo himself, acquiring such a thing would be trivial.

Clearly, Willie had other aims.

Amy narrowed his eyes, his finger unconsciously caressing the short blade hidden in his sleeve. The man’s motives were impure, but the news he brought rang true. Giant Paul, as Michelangelo’s right hand, was a pillar whose death would have enraged the emperor—and with so many eager to stir trouble, turmoil in the lower district was now inevitable.

As emperor for thirty years, Michelangelo could not be blind to the undercurrents beneath the surface, nor was he a man to passively accept insult. In these turbulent times, his retaliation would be swift and merciless.

“Lucky me—Willie, the Mask, Michelangelo, and a mysterious third force. I’ve barely arrived and I’m already at the center of the storm—no, the eye of the hurricane.” So reflecting on his misfortune, Amy gazed out at the darkness cloaking the sky, his heart heavier than ever before—but this very weight drove him to a decision. “It may not be the best time, but I can’t delay. The traveler returned from darkness must be visited.”

Resolute, he pushed open the door he had so recently closed and stepped out into the deepening night.