Chapter Thirty-Three: An Unexpected Encounter at the Harvest Festival (Special Edition I)

Harvest Festival.

This was the most important holiday of the year in Hemtica—without exception.

In any agrarian society where industrial systems have yet to take shape, a bountiful harvest is the paramount event of the year. Even in Hemtica, where ancestral worship outweighs the veneration of idols, this truth holds firm. Every autumn, the lower districts organize grand parades of decorated floats. The diligent masses, who labor without complaint throughout the year, temporarily lay down their burdens to join in this sea of merriment.

It is a celebration of abundance, a well-earned reward for themselves.

Seize the joy of the moment.

Amy's return coincided with this rare and splendid festival. In the upper districts, where the Glorifiers dwelled, the Harvest Festival was also celebrated each year. The scale and extravagance of the festivities there far surpassed those below—yet for all their grandeur, they could not match the fervor and spirit of the lower districts.

After all, for most of the lower district residents, the three days of the Harvest Festival were the only holidays they had all year, their sole window onto the colorful world beyond.

Almost everyone embraced this annual jubilee with enthusiasm—everyone, that is, except Amy. Under ordinary circumstances, the young Glorifier might have enjoyed the festivities. But not now. He simply wasn't in the mood.

First, the situation in the lower districts was uncertain; wandering about could draw trouble best avoided. Second, he was utterly exhausted. Escaping from the black sorcerer Alfred had drained him, and his conversation with the High Swordbearer and the White-robed Bishop had been anything but light. Despite having rested for “three days,” the bizarre state of false death had done nothing to ease his fatigue. All he wanted now was to find a quiet place to sleep, free from all these tangled thoughts.

But fate rarely complies with one's wishes.

On his way home, Amy unexpectedly ran into the processional floats. The surging crowds forced him to halt.

“Troublesome,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He decided to take a detour.

The lower district’s network of streets bore little sign of administrative planning. Anyone unfamiliar with the area—even armed with a map—would be easily disoriented by the maze of winding alleys, unable to tell north from south. Fortunately, Amy had lived here for some time, and for the sake of his own survival had deliberately committed these secretive byways to memory. He wouldn’t say he was completely at ease in them, but he could certainly navigate without difficulty.

One step at a time, he strolled on at leisure.

For once, the young Glorifier felt a rare sense of ease.

Looking back, it seemed that his life had been a storm of events for some time—events swirling around him, or in which he was caught. He could barely remember the last time he’d simply emptied his mind and enjoyed life. After his parents’ mysterious disappearance, assassins shattered the peace that he and his sister had known. Other Glorifier families, coveting Ulysses for their own ends, added to the turmoil. To protect her, he’d had to send Yulia to the Order and strike out alone into the lower districts, beginning a new existence. Yet just as this new life began, the muscle-bound giant Paul started harassing him—who knew at whose instigation?

When he finally resolved to deal with Paul, he was swept into the vortex of the lower district’s power struggles, drawing the attention of the Dark Guild and their forbidden arts. Worse still, what should have been a simple errand to report intelligence to the upper district turned into a deadly ambush by the black sorcerer Alfred. Was it truly necessary to dispatch the entire Dark Council against a mere fallen Glorifier? It was absurd!

Yet, he had survived it all.

To have endured so much and still be alive could almost be called luck, he thought wryly. Then he had to laugh at himself—alive? By his count, he’d “died” at least three times just on trips to the upper district, not to mention the time he fell to the Fog Killer, and the several attacks after his parents vanished—at least seven or eight “deaths” in total. Were it not for his unique abilities, he and Yulia would have long ago perished under this wretched fate.

Yulia...

Thinking of his sister, Amy let out a long sigh.

In the end, it was only natural for a young woman to develop her own ideas and independence. As her brother, he ought to be happy for her. Yet for reasons he couldn't name, the thought left him feeling hollow, as if he were about to lose her all over again.

All over again?

Nonsense, he chided himself. Amy shook his head. There was nothing to dwell on; these strange slips of the mind happened often enough, especially when he was exhausted. Odd notions would spring up unbidden, but he was long used to them.

It was hardly anything to worry about.

He pressed deeper into the alleyways, where the number of passersby dwindled. These “secret” routes were well-known to locals, but few dared to use them. The main thoroughfares, though crowded during the festival, were much safer—apart from the usual risk of pickpockets, one rarely had to fear anything more sinister.

Security in the lower districts had always been an issue. Emperor Michelangelo had made significant efforts to restore order, but in these tangled territories of competing factions, the patrols could only do so much. In recent years, things had improved, but only on the main streets. These twisting alleys remained hotspots for crime; ordinary people avoided them unless absolutely necessary.

Even on a festival day, at most people would cut through a side street, never venturing too deep.

As Amy expected, the further he went, the fewer people he saw. On ordinary days, these alleys might house some local thugs, but during the Harvest Festival, such troublemakers preferred the excitement of the crowds.

Or perhaps none remained at all.

Criminals here were either cunning old foxes or hot-headed youths easily led astray. The former lacked the manpower to cause trouble, while the latter, drawn by their boundless curiosity, would be swept up in the festival’s revelry, losing themselves in the bustling streets.

Of course, Amy had little interest in the fate of such petty villains. These thoughts flickered through his mind and were soon drowned out by a pleasant sense of relaxation.

What a rare moment of repose...

With no one around, the boy narrowed his eyes and let the breeze caress his face.

And then—

He doubled over as if struck in the stomach by a leaden cannonball, staggering back a pace to steady himself.

A girl’s pained exclamation reached his ears, but she quickly recovered, clutching her face and grumbling with annoyance, “What are you, part cat? How do you move without making a sound?”

“Huh?” Startled by the collision, Amy responded with a confused noise, then, following her lead, began to apologize. “Sorry...”

He stopped abruptly. Wait—wasn’t he the one who’d been run into?

“Hold on—” Amy finally looked at the girl, who stood barely a fist’s distance away. “Shouldn’t I be the victim here, you reckless little... miss.”

Given her height, he added the word “little.”

“Little miss? I hate that term.” The girl looked about fifteen or sixteen, just on the cusp of womanhood, but she stood only to Amy’s lower abdomen—a genuine little one. “You popped up out of nowhere, like a submerged rock in the river. How could I possibly have bumped into you? Still... it’s odd. Why didn’t I see you?”

For the first time, Amy met someone who blamed the person she ran into for “suddenly appearing,” and with such conviction. Women, he thought, truly are the embodiment of willfulness.

“I get the feeling you’re thinking something rude,” the girl remarked after staring at him for a while. She rubbed her slightly reddened nose. “But whatever. I’m not hurt, so I’ll be magnanimous and forgive you this time.”

Magnanimous? Amy could only respond with silence.

“Let’s pretend we never met. Farewell, you who do not exist in the river of fate...” She waved, but as she turned to leave, her movement froze. The playful tone vanished, replaced by a troubled frown. “As I thought... fate is everywhere.”

Faced with this sudden mysticism, Amy seriously considered turning and walking away.

Just chalk it up to meeting a madwoman.

He decided not to argue with someone clearly unhinged.

But just as he was about to leave, the petite, dark-haired girl grabbed his hand and pressed a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.

The meaning was clear enough, but Amy had no intention of playing along. He frowned and asked bluntly, “Little miss, what is it?”

He wasn’t about to indulge a child’s games, no matter how pretty and adorable she was.

After all, she was just a self-absorbed, babbling little brat.

Little miss? The girl clenched her fists in indignation—did this guy not know when to stop?

Well, he’ll only be hopping around for a little while longer, she thought, magnanimously. It’s only right to show the dead a bit of mercy.

She nodded to herself, reminding herself what a merciful person she was.

“Please be quiet, Grasshopper,” she said earnestly, gazing into the boy’s dark, shining eyes. After three breaths, she continued, “I’m being pursued by a truly terrifying monster—if he finds me, he’ll drag me back to his lair and subject me to unspeakable captivity.”

Perhaps she was delusional, Amy thought, once again at a loss for words.

Yet under her gaze, something softened in him.

—At all times, children should be allowed their whims.

He nodded quietly in agreement.